TO THE MEMORY OF GRACE AGUILAR by ANONYMOUS

AND thou art gone, Grace Aguilar,
The "Darling" of the race;
Child of the "hated," thou wert one
E'en any sphere to grace;
And O, like her, proud Hebrew maid,
Thou didst awake a cry,
Pure as the northern peasant was,
Is chronicled on high.

For though destruction's bosom swept
Thy children o'er the earth,
They yet shall worship in the land
Which gave their fathers birth;
And Zion's song shall yet be deemed
Acceptable to God,
And Zion's maidens sweetly dance
On Jordan's hallow'd sod.

And, lovely one, like Wilberforce,
Thou scarce didst live to see
Thy prayer fulfill'd, the fact'ry child
From slavery set free.
Like "Darling" thou didst raise the cry,
The helpless heard thy voice,
And hoping still, thou help'dst them on,
And bade their souls rejoice.

I mourn for thee, my sister friend,
As kindred in that art
Which is Divine—a holy tie
No human pow'r can part.
When first my muse essay'd to sing,
'Neath Wilson's fostering care,
Thou, too didst grace the glowing page,
And Youatt's name was there.

We knew no creed, save that which bound
Our souls in ties as strong
As revelation e'er proclaimed
Or grac'd the Psalmist's song;
Onward we went, one hope in view,
Both pilgrims on the road,
Towards the "everlasting towers,"
"The city of our God."

Peace to thine ashes! May there rise
From out thine ashes now,
A genius of thy race, as bright,
As purely bright as thou.
And when our earthly race is o'er,
O may we meet above,
And join the bright-robed heav'nly throng
Who sing that "God is Love."

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