PUBLISHED BY DARTON AND HARVEY .

M Y friend! I have perused thy little book,
And seen sublime and loftiest truths convey'd
In simple child-like language, beautiful,
Cloth'd in thy own simplicity! — The trust
That can expand the little infant mind,
And raise it to its Father and its God,
Above the earthly parent, who pours down
Her blessing on its head, and in her arms
Shelters its weakness — the unfolding view
Of life, and heaven, and immortality —
The glimpses of that future, which is ripe
With its eternal destiny — these hopes
It cannot drink too early or too deep,
Whose sanctity will bless its coming years.
These, and a reverence for that sacred light,
Which is enkindled in the human soul
To speed it on to virtue: these, my friend,
Thy little book unfolds; and I have felt
My spirit warm, and brightening as I read,
With the full tide of hope and gratitude;
And now I thank thee for it. Little hearts
Will throb, perchance like mine, over thy page,
And little tears of early penitence
For their young faults bedew it. Then go on,
Go on, and be a blessing to the age,
A light which mothers, in their tenderness,
Shall fondly look to, and their babies love.
For thee — thy high reward is not of earth,
Nor in the applauses of the wise and good;
The record is secure, and every effort,
Vain or successful, shall be crown'd in heaven.

PUBLISHED BY DARTON AND HARVEY .

M Y friend! I have perused thy little book,
And seen sublime and loftiest truths convey'd
In simple child-like language, beautiful,
Cloth'd in thy own simplicity! — The trust
That can expand the little infant mind,
And raise it to its Father and its God,
Above the earthly parent, who pours down
Her blessing on its head, and in her arms
Shelters its weakness — the unfolding view
Of life, and heaven, and immortality —
The glimpses of that future, which is ripe
With its eternal destiny — these hopes
It cannot drink too early or too deep,
Whose sanctity will bless its coming years.
These, and a reverence for that sacred light,
Which is enkindled in the human soul
To speed it on to virtue: these, my friend,
Thy little book unfolds; and I have felt
My spirit warm, and brightening as I read,
With the full tide of hope and gratitude;
And now I thank thee for it. Little hearts
Will throb, perchance like mine, over thy page,
And little tears of early penitence
For their young faults bedew it. Then go on,
Go on, and be a blessing to the age,
A light which mothers, in their tenderness,
Shall fondly look to, and their babies love.
For thee — thy high reward is not of earth,
Nor in the applauses of the wise and good;
The record is secure, and every effort,
Vain or successful, shall be crown'd in heaven.