Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1832-12-27


Home Of our hopes. what fond tears are gushing,
As we pour forth our blessings & heartfelt adeu.
How sweet the scenes fond memory is bring
ing,
Thy wales and thy woods, and thy meadows
rich store,
Thy rough hills and mountains, and old ocean
flingng
His cool breezy arms round thy rock girdled
shore.
Thy villages white, thy Sabbath bell Ginning,
Thy children's school close by the temple ofGoD ;
Land Of our fathers still round thee is shining
The light that they guarded with tears and with
blood.
And there in thy bosom the pilgrims sleeping,
Mid the thanks, and the honors, Of sons they
have blest;
Land Of the free, how the nations are keeping
Their watch on thy day-star, to guide them to
rest.
And there is our childhood's home, there where
life's dawning,
Mid youths merry sportings, paternal love best,
Where mothers fond smile was the light Of each
morning,
And there is the grave where we laid her to rest.
And there are the warm hearts from whom we
must sever,
Whose love long hath blest US, whose prayers
still pursue;
in I'M wan oh bara bail
Find other SO generous, so tried, aud SO true!
Farewell blest New-Engand! thy blue hills are
flushing
In sunsets last rays ,as they fade from our view
Land Of our fathers! what fond tears are gushing,
As we pour forth ous blessings and heartfelt
adieu.
Philadelphia, Oct. I6, 1882.
The above was written by Miss CATH
ARINE f. BEEcHER. Having been for
several years the Principal of the Hart
ford Female Seminary, over which the
Rev. L. III. Gallaudet now presides, the
following reply to Miss Beecher's Fare
well was written at his request in behalf of
her late pupils, which we copy from the
Connecticut Observer.
The Young Ladies of the "HarJord Fe-
male Seminary" in reply to MISS Beech
er's "Fare,veH."
Oh, no! not farewell! though our blue hills are
keeping
No longer their watch FER thy far distant scene
Though the grave where thy mothers cold ashe,
are sleeping
No more with the tear Of thy sorrow be green.
Yet, still, in this dome, thy warm image is dwell
ing,
From these favored inmates it never must part
Here, thy voice like the clear harp of Eoli il
swelling,
And gratitude wakes the response of the heart.
While we bend Ger the page which thy preccp
impssses,
While with zeal unsubdued, for true wisdom w,
seek,
twill seem that thy Kind hand strs in our tresses
And the breath Of thy question sighs soft o'e
our cheek.
We may wander away, but the gems thou has
given
In our caskets are treasur' the wealth of tn
mind,- -
With the knowledge Of earth,-and the lessons o
Heaven,
Thy smile, and thy prayer, and thy presenc
are twin'd.
From the home Of thy birth thy remembrance ma
From the haunts Of thy childhood thy footst'
may fade,
But thy shrine in this temple is sacred forever,
And the love young hearts on its altar is lai
Till the germs thou didst plant in our bosoms a
perish'd,-
Till thy pencils deep trace from our sight it do
flee,
SO long shall thy dear name be frequently che
ish'd,
And the breeze to the West bear our blessin
TO thee
Tuesday, Oct %, 1882.
METHoD. is the very hin.
Of business, and there is no method wit
-, out punctualty. Punctualy promot