Each passing stranger stopp'd to view

A plant possessing charms so new:

"Sweet Flower" each lip was heard to say-
Nor less the Owner pleased than they :
Rear'd by his hand with constant care,
And planted in his choice parterre,

Of all his garden this the pride,
No flower so much admired beside.

Nor did the Rose unconscious bloom,
Nor feel ungrateful for the boon;
Oft as her guardian came that way,
Whether at dawn, or eve of day,
Expanded wide-her form unveil'd,
She double fragrance then exhaled.

As months roll'd on, the spring appear'd,
Its genial rays the Rose matured;
Forth from its root a shoot extends-
The parent Rose-tree downward bends,
And, with a joy unknown before,
Contemplates the yet embryo flow'r.

'Offspring most dear, (she fondly said,)
Part of myself! beneath my shade,
Safe shalt thou rise, whilst happy I,
Transported with maternal joy,
Shall see thy little buds appear,
Unfold, and bloom in beauty here.
What though the Lily, or Jonquil,
Or Hyacinth no longer fill

The space around me-All shall be
Abundantly made up in thee.

'What though my present charms decay.

And passing strangers no more say

Of me, 'Sweet flower!'-Yet thou shalt raise Thy blooming head, and gain the praise ;

And this reverberated pleasure

Shall be to me a world of treasure.

Cheerful I part with former merit,
That it my darling may inherit,

Haste then the hours which bid thee bloom,
And fill the zephyrs with perfume!'

Thus had the Rose-tree scarcely spoken,
Ere the sweet cup of bliss was broken-
The Gard'ner came, and with one stroke
He from the root the offspring took;
Took from the soil wherein it grew,
And hid it from the parent's view.

Judge ye, who know a mother's cares
For the dear tender babe she bears,
The parent's anguish-ye alone
Such sad vicissitudes have known.

Deep was the wound; nor slight the pain Which made the Rose-tree thus complain:

'Dear little darling! art thou goneThy charms scarce to thy mother known? Remov'd so soon!-So suddenly,

Snatch'd from my fond maternal eye!

What hadst thou done?-dear offspring! say,

So early to be snatch'd away!

What!, gone for ever!—seen no more!

For ever I thy loss deplore.

Ye dews descend, with tears supply
My now for ever tearful eye;

Or rather come some northern blast,
Dislodge my yielding roots in haste.
Whirlwinds arise-my branches tear,
And to some distant region bear
Far from this spot, a wretched mother,
Whose fruit and joys are gone together.'

As thus the anguish'd Rose-tree cried,
Her Owner near her she espied;
Who in these gentle terms reproved
A plant, though murm'ring, still beloved :

Cease, beauteous flower, these useless cries,
And let my lessons make thee wise.

Art thou not mine? Did not my hand
Transplant thee from the barren sand,
Where once a mean unsightly plant,
Exposed to injury and want,

Unknown, and unadmir'd I found,

And brought thee to this fertile ground;
With studious art improved thy form,
Secured thee from th' inclement storm,
And through the seasons of the year,
Made thee my unabating care?
Hast thou not blest thy happy lot,
In such an Owner, such a spot?

But now, because thy shoot I've taken,
Thy best of friends must be forsaken.
Know, flower beloved, e'en this affliction
Shall prove to thee a benediction:
Had I not the young plant removed,
(So fondly by thy heart beloved,)

Of me thy heart would scarce have thought,
With gratitude no more be fraught:
--Yea-thy own beauty be at stake
Surrender'd for thy offspring's sake.
Nor think, that, hidden from thine eyes,
The infant plant neglected lies-
No-I've another garden, where
In richer soil and purer air

It's now transplanted, there to shine
In beauties fairer far than thine.

'Nor shalt thou always be apart
From the dear darling of thy heart;
For 'tis my purpose thee to bear
In future time, and plant thee there,
Where thy now absent off-set grows,
And blossoms a CELESTIAL Rose.

Be patient, then, till that set hour shall come,

When thou and thine shall in new beauties bloom :

No more its absence shalt thou then deplore,
Together grow, and ne'er be parted more.'

These words to silence hush'd the plaintive Rose,
With deeper blushes redd'ning now she glows,
Submissive bow'd her unrepining head,

Again her wonted, grateful fragrance shed-
Cried, 'Thou hast taken only what's thine own,
Therefore thy will, my Lord, not mine, be done.'

CHAPTER IV.

AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LAST AFFLICTION, AND THE HOLY AND HAPPY EXERCISES OF HIS MIND UNDER IT.

EARLY in October 1798, Mr. Pearce attended at the Kettering ministers' meeting, and preached from Psalm xc. 16, 17. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it. He was observed to be singularly solemn and affectionate in that discourse. If he had known it to be the last time that he should address his brethren in that part of the country, he could scarcely have felt or spoken in a more interesting manner. It was a discourse full of instruction, full of a holy unction, and that seemed to breathe an apostolical ardour. On his return, be preached at Market Harborough; and riding home the next day in company with his friend Mr. Summers of London, they were overtaken with rain. Mr. Pearce was wet through his clothes, and towards evening complained of a chilliness. A slight hoarseness followed. He preached several times after this, which brought on an inflammation, and issued in a consumption. It is probable that if his constitution had not been previously impaired, such effects might not have followed in this instance. His own ideas on this subject are expressed in a letter to Dr. Ryland, dated December 4, 1798, and in another to Mr. King, dated from Bristol, on his way to Plymouth, March 30, 1798. In the former, he says,-"Ever since my Christmas journey last year to Sheepshead, Nottingham, and Leicester, on the mission