By Mrs. D. P. Brown.

Fair little flow'r, may no rude storm
Impair thy early bloom,—
No cank'rous grief that smile deform,
Or antedate its doom.
In soul be ever as thou art
Mild, merciful, and kind,
Date all enjoyments from the heart,
All conquests from the mind.
The body is an empty thing,
Frail, worthless, weak, and vain;
The mind alone can pleasure bring,
Or soothe the bed of pain.
What is the gaudy casket, when
The priceless jewel's gone?
Such to the eyes of noble men,
Is beauty's charm alone.
Fashion may decorate the brow,
Fortune the eye allure,
But nothing worldly can bestow
Those treasures which endure.
Then fix, my child, thy hopes above;
All earthly joys deceive:
Rest solely on a Saviour's love,
My gentle daughter Eve.

Philadelphia.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO MY CHILDREN—ON NEW-YEAR.

By Mrs. D. P. Brown.

Another year has wing'd its flight,
And left us where it found us,
In health, affection, and delight,
With every charm around us.
The overseeing Eye of Heaven
Has guided, guarded, cheer'd us,
Its bounteous hand has freely given,
Its bounteous love endeared us.
Time shall roll on, and still each year
Enhance our mutual pleasure,—
Tho' fortune frown on our career
The heart shall be our treasure:
And when at last stern Fate's decree
Our kindred souls shall sever,
In regions of eternity
They'll join in joy forever.

Philadelphia.