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"If he had properly a worldly ambition for any thing, it was for the fame of a poet. He had constantly in view great objects to accomplish, and he therefore derived the greatest satisfaction from those employments which promoted them. But, apart from this source of interest, he took more pleasure in poetical composition than in any other occupation; and, although he indulged himself in it but little, it was an occupation more to his original taste than any other. When his mind was entirely unbent, when he had no immediate purpose to accomplish, as in travelling, or in sickness, he almost instinctively turned to poetry for rest or refreshment. But, with this strong love for it, it was, after all, only an accident in his life. He has only left enough to show of what he was capable, had he not been so exclusively occupied with what, in his view, had higher claims on his attention.” — Life of Henry Ware, Jr. p. 468.


THE following selections from Mr. Ware's poetical writings comprise all he has left in a condition for publication, that I have felt authorized to print. Some of the pieces have been already published. A few are well known, and have been widely circulated.

It is to be regretted that he did not finish his "Dream of Life," fragments of which possess no little merit, and the design of which is admirable.

In preparing the manuscripts for publication, no more liberty has been taken in their correction and revision than was absolutely necessary. The supervision of the author himself would, doubtless, have induced a more severe criticism, and imparted a superior finish.

For the sake of completeness and convenience of reference, I have introduced here the few poems which were inserted in the Memoir. In the arrangement of the selections, reference has been had to variety and taste, rather than to chronological order.


December, 1826.

To prayer, to prayer; - for the morning breaks,
And Earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

Το prayer; - for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on;
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.

To prayer;
for the day that God has blest
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new-born infant beside her lies.

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