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BEREAVEMENT AND DEATH.
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace ;
Shall we behold her face.
And though, at times, impetuous with einotion
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.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ;
Amid these earthly 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 Death.
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.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
All the pride of boy-life begun,
All the hope of life yet to run ;
Who dares to question when One saith “Nay.”
Murmur not, - only pray.
Another body in churchyard sod,
Another soul on the life in God.
His Christ was buried — and lives alway :
Trust Him, and go your way.
UNVEIL THY BOSOM, FAITHFUL TOMB
Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb;
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust.
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,
TO THE MEMORY OF
WHO DIED AT MILAN, While angels watch the soft repose.
JUNE 6, 1860. "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou ! whoin seek
est thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith no bun, So Jesus slept ; God's dying Son
Sir, if thou have borne hin hence, tell me where thou hast laid Passed through the grave, and blest the bed : him.“ – 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 devy locks, Break from his throne, illustrious morn ; Attend, O earth, his sovereign word ;
And his mysterious eyes are sweet and said. 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, each floweret to his will
With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.
“Two hands to work addrest
Aye for his praise ;
Walking his ways;
O, 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 ;
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
The night is late, the house is still ;
My listening heart takes up the strain,
His will be done, His will be done !
For Charlie's sake I will arise ;
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER
GOD'S-ACRE. I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls,
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
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! Good she was, and fair in youth ;
And her mind was seen to soar,
Take her, then, forevermore,
Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pet;
Darling Minnie ! I see her yet.
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 :