ON HEARING THE RESULT OF THE BUFFALO CONVENTION.

Hurrah for Van Buren, hurrah for free soil!
Hurrah for right principles for which we will toil!
Let us yet save our Nation from Slavery's power;
No longer should freemen to Southerners cower.

Hurrah for Van Buren, hurrah all that can!
Hurrah for Van Buren, hurrah to a man!
Come up to the help of the people we cry:
To rescue from danger, methinks you will try.

Hurrah for Van Buren, come stand at your post!
Though Taylor and Cass men may think they're a host!
Yet still we believe you may carry your point;
For true we discover them all out of joint.

Hurrah for Van Buren, and bless the glad day,

Also the Convention, and the Nominee!

We did shout when the news of it fell on our ear,

That the crisis to us, had come even this year.

Hurrah for Van Buren, again let us shout!

On the seventh of November, pray prove yourselves stout!
For a Nation divided we read cannot stand,

Therefore draw together and save our blest land.

Hurrah for Van Buren once more we do say!
For all have an interest, and enlist now we pray,
Arise to the battle that 's coming ere long,

Come up to the polls, be valiant and string.

Hurrah for Van Buren, and for many more!

Which have stood at their posts, and yet they endure;
We cannot pass by them, without giving cheers,
So hurrah to all such as are not in the rear!

Now ladies we'll give a hearty response,

For long have we sought to relieve from their bonds,
Those that are made of such material as we,
To give them their freedom how happy they'd be.

It is true we are helpless like the Slaves of the South, Yet we feel to hurrah with the breath of our mouth, Though anciently some staid, by the stuff it is said, So let us submit to our husband and head.

Kind heaven forgive-though first in transgression,
We feel thy rebuke, and would fain make confession:
But we must be still if we cant count as much,
As that portion of South, that cannot be touched.

My dear Christian friends, a word and I'll stop:
Our religion's in danger, without civil prop,
Now take the alarm, though woman hath said,
Or else you may yet, have a nail drove in your head.
ABIGAIL HOUSE.

CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.

While nature was sinking in stillness and rest,
The last beams of daylight shone dim in the West;
O'er the fields by the moonlight to lonely retreat:
In deep meditation I wandered my feet.

While passing a garden, I paused there to hear,
A voice faint and faltering from one that was near,
A voice to the mourner affected my heart,
While pleading in anguish the poor sinner's part.

In offering to heaven the poor sinner's prayer,
He spoke of the torment that sinners must bear:
His life as a ransom he offered to give,
That sinners redeemed in glory might live.

I listened a moment then turned to see,
What man of compassion this stranger could be,
When, lo! I discovered knelt on the cold ground,
The loveliest being that ever was known.

His mantle was wet with the dews of the night,

His locks by pale moon-beams were glistening and bright His eyes bright like diamonds to heaven were raised, Whilst angels in wonder stood round him amazed.

So deep was his sorrow, so fervent his prayers,
That down on his bosom rolled sweat blood and tears;
I went to behold and ask him his name,

He answered 'tis Jesus, from Heaven I came.

I am thy redeemer, for thee I must die,
The cup is most painful, but cannot pass by,
Thy sins like a mountain, are laid upon me;
And all this deep anguish I suffer for thee.

I heard with attention the tale of his woe,
While tears like a fountain of water did flow,
The cause of his sorrow to hear him repeat,
Afflicted my heart and I fell at his feet.

I trembled with horror and loudly did cry:
Lord save a poor sinner, oh! save or I die!
He smiled when he saw me, and said to me-live!
Thy sins which are many, I freely forgive.

How sweet was that moment he bade me rejoice,
His smiles, oh! how pleasant, how cheering his voice!
I flew from the garden to spread it abroad,

I shouted Salvation, oh! glory to God!

I'm now on my journey to mansions above,
My soul's full of glory, of peace, light, and love;
I think of the garden, the prayers and the tears,
Of that loving stranger that banished my fears,

The day of bright glory is rolling around,
When Gabriel descending the trumpet will sound:
My eyes then with raptures of glory will rise,
To gaze on the stranger with unclouded eyes.

THE WHITE PILGRIM.

I came to the spot where the white Pilgrim lay,
And pensively stood by the tomb,

When in a low whisper I heard something say:
How sweetly I sleep here alone.

The tempest may howl, and loud thunder may roar,
And gathering storms may arise;

Yet calm are my feelings, at rest is my soul,
The tears are all wiped from my eyes.

The cause of my Master propelled me from home,

I bid my companion farewell;

I left my sweet children who now for me mourn,
In far distant regions to dwell.

I wandered an exile, a stranger below,

To publish Salvation abroad,

The trump of the Gospel endeavored to blow,
Inviting poor sinners to God.

But when among strangers and far from my home,

No kindred nor relative nigh,

I met the contagion and sunk in the tomb,

My spirit to mansions on high.

Go tell my companion and children must dear,

To weep not for Joseph tho' gone,

The same hand that led me thro' scenes dark and drear,