He gave



Over the river, the mystic river,

Thou art gone to the grave,

- but 't were wrong My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

to deplore thee,

When God was thy ransom, thy guar«lian, tly For none return from those quiet shores,

guide; Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ;

nee, and took thee, and soon will reWe hear the dip of the golden oars,

store thee, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ;

Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts,

hath died.
They cross the stream and are gone for aye.
We may not sunder the veil apart
That hides from our vision the gates of day;

We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ;

There all the happy souls that ever were, Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, Shall meet with gladness in one theatre; They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

And each shall know there one another's face,

By beatific virtue of the place. And I and think, when the sunset's gold

There shall the brother with the sister walk, Is flushing river and hill and shore,

And sons and daughters with their parents talk; I shall one day stand by the water cold,

But all of God : they still shall have to say, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ;

But make him all in all their theme that day : I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail,

That happy day that never shall see night! I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,

Where he will be all beauty to the sight; I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,

Wine or delicious fruits into the taste; To the better shore of the spirit land.

A music in the ears will ever last; I shall know the loved who have gone before,

Unto the scent, a spicery or balm ; And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,

And to the touch, a flower, like soft as palm. When over the river, the peaceful river,

He will all glory, all perfection, be,
The angel of death shall carry me.

God in the Union and the Trinity!
That holy, great, and glorious mystery
Will there revealed be in majesty,

By light and comfort of spiritual grace ;
THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. The vision of our Saviour face to face,

In his humanity! to hear him preach Thou art gone to the grave, we no longer de

The price of our redemption, and to teach, plore thee,

Through his inherent righteousness in death, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the

The safety of our souls and forfeit breath! tomb;

What fulness of beatitude is here! The Saviour has passed through its portals before

What love with mercy mixed doth appear ! thee,

To style us friends, who were by nature foes ! And the lamp of his love is thy guide through

Adopt us heirs by grace, who were of those the gloom.

Had lost ourselves ; and prodigally spent Thou art gone to the grave,

Our native portions and possessed rent! we no longer behold

Yet have all debts forgiven us ; an advance thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy

By imputed right to an inheritance

In his eternal kingdom, where we sit side ; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold

Equal with angels, and co-heirs of it.

BEN JONSON thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died.


I would not live alway; I ask not to stay Thou art gone to the grave, — and, its mansion

Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way ; forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here long,

Are enough for life's joys, full enough for its cheer. But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on I would not live alway; no, — welcome the tomb! thy waking,

Since Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom : And the song which thou heard'st was the There sweet be my rest till he bid me arise, seraphin's song

To hail him in triumph descending the skies.

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Ye were aye leal and true, Jean ; Your task 's ended noo, Jean, And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, She was baith guid and fair, Jean, 0, we grudged her right sair

To the land o' the leal !

happy souls that ever er
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15, all perfection, be
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at, and glorious mystery
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our Saviour face to live

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal !
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean ;
We'll meet and aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.



BEYOND the smiling and the weeping

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
Beyond the sowing and the reaping,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope !

Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the blooming and the fading

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the shining and the shading,
Beyond the hoping and the dreading,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home !
Beyond the rising and the setting

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the calming and the fretting,
Beyond remembering and forgetting,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Beyond the gathering and the strowing

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,
Beyond the coming and the going,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Beyond the parting and the meeting

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the farewell and the greeting,
Beyond this pulse's fever beating,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Beyond the frost chain and the fever

I shall be soon ;
Beyond the rock waste and the river,
Beyond the ever and the never,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home !
Sweet hope !
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Ty! to hear hir prach
ar redemption, and to read
herent rightemistress in the sky
ur souls and forfeit breath.
f beatitude is here!
i merey mixeu doch agera.
nds, who were br pazxbx

bv grace, who were of that
Tes; and predigrullr spent
ions and passare il mez
uits forgiven us; an urus
at to an inheritance
angdom, where we sit
els, and co-heirs of it.

Her hands are cold ; her face is white;

No more her pulses come and go ;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;

Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.

But not beneath a graven stone,

To plead for tears with alien eyes ; A slender cross of wood alone

Shall say, that here a maiden lies

In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And gray old trees of hugest limb

Shall wheel their circling shadows round, To make the scorching sunlight dim

That drinks the greenness from the ground,

And drop their dead leaves on her mound. When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,

And through their leaves the robins call, And, ripening in the autumn sun,

The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

VOT LIVE ALAT /way; I ask not to stay storm rises dark of ik IT hings that dawn on B jors, full enough for lovit ay; no, - Welcome the man z there, I drad vot its din

rest till he bid me as mph descending the skies

For her the morning choir shall sing

Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel-voice of spring,



My Arthur, whom I shall not see

Till all my widowed race be run;

Dear as the mother to the son, More than my brothers are to me.

That triils beneath the April sky,

Shall greet her with its earliest cry. When, turning round their dial-track,

Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, Her little mourners, clad in black,

The crickets, sliding through the grass,

Shall pipe for her an evening mass. At last the rootlets of the trees

Shall find the prison where she lies, And bear the buried dust they seize

In leaves and blossoms to the skies.

So may the soul that warmed it rise ! If any, born of kindlier blood,

Should ask, What maiden lies below! Say only this : A tender bud,

That tried to blossom in the snow,
Lies withered where the violets blow.


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Unconscious of the sliding hour,

Bare of the body, might it last,

And silent traces of the past Be all the color of the flower :

So then were nothing lost to man; "So that still garden of the souls

In many a figured leaf enrolls The total world since life began;

DEAD, IN A FOREIGN LAND. Fair ship, that from the Italian shore

Sailest the placid ocean-plains

With my lost Arthur's loved remains, Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er. So draw him home to those that mourn

In vain ; a favorable speed

Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead Through prosperous floods his holy urn. All night no ruder air perplex

Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright

As our pure love, through early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. Sphere all your lights around, above;

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;

Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, My friend, the brother of my love ;

And love will last as pure and whole

As when he loved me here in Time,

And at the spiritual prime Rewaken with the duwning soul.


Tuat each, who seems a separate whole,

Should move his rounds, and fusing all

The skirts of self again, should fall Remerging in the general Soul,


The fame is quenched that I foresaw,

The head hath missed an earthly wreath :

I curse not nature, no, nor death;
For nothing is that errs from law.
We pass ; the path that each man trod

Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds :

What fame is left for human deeds In endless age? It rests with God.

O hollow wraith of dying fame,

Fade wholly, while the soul exults,

And self-enfolds the large results Of force that would have forged a name.


What hope is here for modern rhyme

To him who turns a musing eye

On songs, and deeds, and lives, that lie Foreshortened in the tract of time?

These mortal lullabies of pain

May bind a book, may line a box,

May serve to curl a maiden's locks : Or when a thousand moons shall wane

may find,

Is faith as vague as all unsweet:

Eternal form shall still divide

The eternal soul from all beside ;
And I shall know him when we meet :
And we shall sit at endless feast,

Enjoying each the other's good :

What vaster dream can hit the mood
Of Love on earth ? He seeks at least
Upon the last and sharpest height,
Before the spirits fade away,

Some landing-place to clasp and say,
“Farewell ! We lose ourselves in light."

Do we indeed desire the dead

Should still be near us at our side?

Is there no baseness we would hide ?
No inner vileness that we dread ?
Shall he for whose applause I strove,

I had such reverence for his blame,

See with clear eye some hidden shame,
And I be lessened in his love ?
I wrong the grave with fears untrue :

Shall love be blamed for want of faith?

There must be wisdom with great Death : The dead shall look me through and through. Be near us when we climb or fall :

Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours

With larger other eyes than ours,
To make allowance for us all.

When on my bed the moonlight falls,

I know that in thy place of rest,

By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls ;
Thy marble bright in dark appears,

As slowly steals a silver flame

Along the letters of thy name,
And o'er the number of thy years.
The mystic glory swims away ;

From off my bed the moonlight dies :

And, closing eaves of wearied eyes,
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray :
And then I know the mist is drawn

A lucid veil from coast to coast,

And in the dark church, like a ghost,
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.

So many worlds, so much to do,

So little done, such things to be,

How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true ?

A man upon a

stall And, passing, turn the page that tells

A grief, then changed to something else, Sung by a long-forgotten mind. But what of that? My darkened ways

Shall ring with music all the same;

To breathe my loss is more than fame, To utter love more sweet than praise.



They are all gone into the world of light,

And I alone sit lingering here ! Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear;

It glows and glitters in my clondy breast,

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest

After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days, My days which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmering and decays. O holy hope ! and high humility,

High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have showed them


To kindle my cold love.

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