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and became connected with the Brooklyn Female Seminary, a new institution, which was opened during that year. On the occasion of the dedication of this Seminary she wrote the following poem :
If in yon glorious arch on high
Another star should purely shine,
How fervent bless the light divine!
The penitent from contrite prayer;
Would join to hail the stranger fair.
That star hath risen! Even now
Its first faint beam salutes the earth, -
Oh! bless the hour that gave it birth!
Long gild these ' heights' with purest beam;-
Until we wake from Life's long dream.
How long she remained at this Seminary, we cannot learn, or whether she is still connected with it. In her private character, and also in her literary productions she reminds us very much of that gifted young lady, Miss Lucy Hooper, whose early death was so deeply lamented by all who knew her, or were familiar with her writings. Miss Woodbridge, to a large extent, possesses the same gentleness of disposition, purity of heart, and winning manner, which made this lady so much beloved. Her writings are characterized by a deep religious purity and earnestness, and are not without their proper share of merit.
LIFE'S LIGHT AND SHADE.
How strangely, in this life of ours,
Light falls amid the darkest shade! How soon the thorn is bid by flowers !
How Hope, sweet spirit, comes to aid The heart oppressed by care and pain,
And whispers, all shall yet be well!' We listen to her magic strain,
And yield the spirit to her spell.
How oft when Love is like a bird
Whose weary wing sweeps o'er the sea,
She spies a verdant olive-tree;
very While other voices wake that hour,
Her gentle numbers to prolong.
soul in song,
Thus, when this heart is sad and lone,
As Memory wakes her dirge-like hymn, When Hope on heavenward wing has flown,
And earth seems wrapped in shadows dim; O! then a word, a glance, a smile,
A simple flower, a childhood's glee, Will each sad thought, each care beguile,
Till joy's bright fountain gushes free.
To-day, its waters softly stirred,
For Peace was nigh, that gentle dove! And sweet as song of forest-bird,
Came the low voice of one I love; And flowers, the smile of Heaven,' were mine,
They seemed to whisper “Why so sad ? Of love we are the seal and sign,
We come to make thy spirit glad.'
Thus ever in the steps of grief
Are seen the precious seeds of joy, Each “fount of Marah’hath a leaf,'
Whose healing balm we may employ. Then 'midst Life's fitful fleeting day,
Look up! the sky is bright above; Kind voices cheer thee on thy way,
Faint spirit! trust the God of Love !