William Henry Leatham Poems

Hark! the turret-clock's slow chime,
Faithful tells the lapse of time;—
Warning us from hour to hour,
Of the sure decay of power.
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Sister of Mercy! hast them fled the earth,
No more to light the felon's doleful cell
With gospel-lamp, to him a glorious birth
Of freedom from sin's dark abyss of hell.
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Thou art not here, and yet thou art!
I hold thee pictured in my breast,
Nor can thine image e'er depart,
Until my soul shall sink to rest—
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Now, Peter the Great, for reasons of state,
(Or reasons best known to himself)
Without invitation, would join a collation,
Were it served upon china or delf.
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