In the Chancel, is a mural tablet, of the purest marble, with the simple record of their names and deaths, in four compartments, surrounded and separated by an exquisite wreath of lilies of the valley, the leaves and flowers, together; the design of a young saint, (the wife of the architect,) who me from a Northern climate, to find, with us, an early grave. At the foot of the tablet, a lamb is sleeping, on the cross.
SWEET lilies of the valley, ye have been,
From earliest childhood, my instinctive joy;
And still, to meet you in the early Spring,
My spirit leaps, as lithe, as when a boy!
The bells that seem to tinkle, with perfume,
And spring, so jauntily, from those broad leaves;
The purest white, upon the deepest green,
That tricksome spring, in her embroidery weaves.
I've twined you, on the breast of blushing bride,
And strewed you, on the hearse of coffined child;
Till love grew fragrant, with a new delight,
And childless sorrow kissed the rod, and smiled.
But, here, within this still and sacred aisle,
Ye charm, anew, my meditative heart;
Where mimic nature, in the marble blooms,
And buried beauty lends a grace, to art.
Four lovely children glide, into the grave;
A childless father bends beneath the rod:
He makes their monument, a House of Prayer;
The gold, he meant for them, he gives to God.
Upon a tablet of the purest white,
Enwreathed with lilies, he records his loss;
Their innocence, he emblems, with his faith;
A lamb, recumbent, sleeps upon the cross.
LAKE ONTARIO, August 6, 1853.