To Mrs. Hannah More Poem by Mary Anne Browne

The Virtues a garland of praises were twining,
And many a favourite name had call'd o'er,
When they hail'd one that purer and brighter was shining,-
And they placed the blest wreath on the brow of our MORE.

Hail, glorious woman ! The sweet chord of feeling,
In ages to come, shall awake at thy name,
And fond recollections of thee shall be stealing
Thro' hearts thou hast warm'd with thy heaven-born flame.

Oh ! what are the names that are with'ring before thee ?
They will be but as meteors that blaze and expire ;-
But mild shall the glory be fame, shall spread o'er thee,
And hallow'd for ever the tones of thy lyre.

Thou art like the fair rose that hath drank the sweet shower,
And, revived and refresh'd by its dews and its rain,
In incense and soft grateful fragrance, the flower
Breathes back the rich treasure to heaven again.

It is said, that the eagle, thro' summer skies flying,
Ever fixes his gaze on the bright orb of day,
And they say, that when wounded, and even when dying,
He turns to the glory that lighted his way.

And so 'tis with thee, - for thy path hath been glorious ;
Thou hast look'd up to heav'n for support as thou trod :
And that view-in thy death o'er the tyrant victorious -
Shall lift up thy soul to thy Father and God.