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Wairarapa Standard, Volume I, Issue 38, 23 September 1867, Page 3

The ,l New England Diadem” gives its readers the following beautiful stanzas, which were suggested by hearing read an extract of a letter from Captain Chase, giving an account of the sickness and death of his brothcr-in-iaw, Mr Brown Owen, who died ou his passage to California:— Lay up nearer, brother nearer, For my limbs are growing cold, And thy presence seemeth dearer, When thy arms around me fold. I am dying, brother dying; Soon you’ll miss me in your berth. For my form will soon be lying ’Neath the ocean’s briny surf. Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something 1 would say. Ere the veil my vision darken, And I go from hence away. I am going, surely going, But my hope in God is strong; I am willing, brother knowing That he doeth nothing wrong. Tell my father when yon greet him, That in death I prayed for him. Prayed that I might one day meet him, In a world that’s free from aiu. Tell my mother, God assist her, Now that she is growing old, Tell her child would glad have kissed her, When his lips grew pale and cold. Listen, brother, catch each whisper, ’Tis my wife I’d speak of now ; Tell, 0 tell her how I missed her When the fever burned my brow. Tell her, brother, closely listen, Don’t forget a single word, — That in health my eyes did glisten With the tears her memory stirred. Tell her she must kiss ray children Like the kiss I last impressed,— Hold them as when last I held them, Folded closely to my breast. Give them early to their Maker, Putting all their trust in Gud, And he never will forsake her ; He has said so in his word. 0, my children, heaven bless them, They were all my life to me ; Would I could once more caress them, Ere I sink beneath the sea. ’Twas for them I crossed the ocean, What my hopes were I’ll not tell; But they’ve gained an orphan's portion ; Yet he doeth all things well. Tell my sister I remember Every kindly parting word, And my heart has been kept lender By the thought their memory stirred. Tell them I ne’er reached the haven Where I sought the precious dust. But I’ve gained a port called Heaven, Where the gold will never rust. Urge them to procure an entrance, For they’ll find their brother there ; Faith in Jesus and repentance Will secure for them a share. Hark'! I hear my Saviour speaking,— ’ Tis, I know his voice so well; When I’m gone 0 don’t be weeping, Brother, here’s my lost farewell- °