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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH.
But a fair maiden, in her father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace ;
Shall wc bchold her face.
And though, at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
That cannot be at rest, -
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay ;
The grief that must have way.
Assume this dark disguise.
IIEXRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW,
We sec but dimly through the mists and vapors ;
Amid these carthly damps
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition :
This life of mortal breath
Whose portal we call Deatlı.
February 23, 1858.
When the soft green buds are bursting out,
And up on the south-wind comes a shout
She is not dead, — the child of our affection, Sturdy of heart and stout of limb,
From eyes that drew halftheir light from him,
In his spring,
- on this spring day.
Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
TO THE MEMORY OF "Anxie,” WHO DIED AT MILAN,
June 6, 1860 While angels watch the soft repose.
"Jesus snith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom seek,
est thou ! She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, So Jesus slept ; God's dying Son
Sir, if thou have borne hiru hence, tell me where thou hast laid Passed through the grave, and blest the bed : hin." — JOHN XX. 15. Rest here, blest saint, till from his throne In the fair gardens of celestial peace The morning break, and pierce the shade. Walketh a gardener in meekness clad ;
Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks, Break from his thronc, illustrious morn;
And his mysterious cyes are sweet and sad. Attend, O carth, his sovereign word ; Restore thy trust ; a glorious form
Fair are the silent foldings of his robes, Shall then arise to meet the Lord.
Falling with saintly calmness to his feet ; DR. ISAAC WATTS.
And when he walks, cach floweret to his will
With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.
“Two hands to work addrest
Aye for his praise ;
Walking his ways;
0, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
This book is all that's left me now,
Tears will unbidden start,
I press it to my heart.
Here is our family tree;
She, dying, gave it me.
Whose names these records bear ;
After the evening prayer,
In tones my heart would thrill !
Here are they living still !
To brothers, sisters, dear;
Who loved God's word to hear !
What thronging memories come!
Within the halls of home !
Thy constancy I've tried ;
My counsellor and guide.
That could this volume buy ;
It taught me how to die !
The night is late, the house is still ;
My listening heart takes up the strain,
His will be done, His will be done!
GEORGE P. MORRIS,
For Charlie's sake I will arise ;
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just ;
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on
UNDER THE CROSS.
I CANNOT, cannot say, Out of my bruised and breaking heart, Storm-driven along a thorn-set way,
While blood-drops start From every pore, as I drag on,
“Thy will, O God, be done !"
SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH.
SOFTLY woo away her breath,
Gentle death !
Tender, mournful, murmuring life ! She hath seen her happy day, —
She hath had her bud and blossom ; Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom !
OVER the river they beckon to me,
Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side, The gleam of their snowy robes I see,
But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue ; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels who met him there,
The gates of the city we could not see : Over the river, over the river,
My brother stands waiting to welcome me.
She hath done her bidding here,
Seraph of the skies, sweet love!
And her mind was seen to soar,
Take her, then, forevermore,
Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pet ; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale,
Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; We felt it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark ; We know she is safe on the farther side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be :