THE BAPTISM.
'Twas near the close of that blest day, when, with melodious swell,
To crowded mart and lonely vale, had spoke the Sabbath-bell;
And on a broad, unruffled stream, with bordering verdure bright,
The westering sunbeam richly shed a tinge of crimson light.
When, lo! a solemn train appeared, by their loved pastor led,
And sweetly rose the holy hymn, as toward that stream they sped,
And he its cleaving, crystal breast, with graceful movement trod,
His steadfast eye upraised, to seek communion with its God.
Then bending o'er his staff, approached that willow-fringed shore,
A man of many weary years, with furrowed temples hoar,
And faintly breathed his trembling lip—"Behold, I fain would be
Buried in baptism with my Lord, ere death shall summon me."
With brow benign, like Him whose hand did wavering Peter guide,
The pastor bore his tottering frame through that translucent tide,
