LINES on the decease of Dr. P. P. QUIMBY, who healed with the truth that Christ taught, in contradistinction to all isms.
Did sackcloth clothe the sun, and day grow night,
All matter morn the hour with dewy eyes,
When Truth, receding from our mortal sight,
Had paid to Error her last sacrifice?
Can we forget the Power that gave us life?
Shall we forget the wisdom of its way?
Then ask me not, amid this mortal strife,—
This keenest pang of animated clay,—
To mourn him less! To mourn him more were just,
If to his memory 't were a tribute given
For every solemn, sacred, earnest trust
Delivered to us ere he rose to heaven.
Heaven but the happiness of that calm soul,
Growing in stature to the throne of God;
Rest should reward him who hath made us whole,
Seeking, though tremblers, where his footsteps trod.
MARY M. PATTERSON,
LYNN, Feb. 22, 1866.