Jane sobb’d and sigh’d, whilst George desired her cease—

“It’s all for good, my dear, come be at peace,”

Said he; but no,—her heart, poor girl, was full:

No human solacy could then control

Her virtuous bosom; nought could check the flood,

Until she clasp’d her hands and look’d to God!

And then she scann’d the cottage whitewash’d walls,

Where hung a picture of “Niag’ra Falls;”

’Mong several others—one, our Saviour’s birth,[196]

Seem’d, of them all, the one of greatest worth,