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161 The Grave of Catharine Brown (1825) H.S. Religious Intelligencer, 17 Sept. 1825 Pour forth thy voice, oh buried maid! And gently warn the sister throng, Who while their raven locks they braid, And lightly weave the heathen song, Shall o’er thy grave a vigil keep, And true to nature, fondly weep. Here should the man of pallid brow, Stern hater of thy nation, hie; Thy sainted spirit hovering low, With hymns of dulcet melody, In his cold heart no change might trace; No pity for a wasted race. But hither should the christian rove, Whose hand the word of truth hath sent, The Mission of his Master’s love, Warning the sinner to repent: Strike thy high harp, and let his ear, One strain of angel rapture hear. “They rise! they rise!—to heaven they soar! Souls who have learnt salvation’s song, From every kindred, clime, and shore, To heaven’s unfolded gate they throng; Oh! Let they ride of bounty flow, Till all the earth its God shall know.”¹² ...

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