In outward beauty undecayed, Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade, We mourn for thee when blind, blank night We pine for thee when morn's first light The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea, Are changed-we saw the world through thee, Casa Wappy! And though, perchance, a smile may gleam It doth not own, whate'er may seem, We miss thy small step on the stair; Casa Wappy! Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, In life's spring-bloom, Down to the appointed house below, The silent tomb. But now the green leaves of the tree, The cuckoo and the "busy bee," Return—but with them bring not thee, Casa Wappy! 'Tis so; but can it be, (while flowers Revive again) Man's doom, in death that we and ours O! can it be that o'er the grave Yet God forget our child to save? Casa Wappy! It cannot be; for were it so Thus man could die, Life were a mockery; Thought were wo, And Truth a lie; Heaven were a coinage of the brain, Religion frenzy, Virtue vain, And all our hopes to meet again Casa Wappy! Then be to us, O dear, lost child! A star, death's uncongenial wild Soon, soon thy little feet have trod Yes, 't is sweet balm to our despair, That heaven is God's, and thou art there, There past are death and all its woes, Farewell, then - for awhile, farewell- It cannot be that long we dwell, Time's shadows like the shuttle flee And, dark howe'er life's night may be, D. M. MOIR. How the world falls to pieces round about us, And leaves us in a ruin of our joy! YOUNG. TO MY CHILD. - COME back to me, my child! I call thee ever, Thy twining arms—thy frequent soft caress: Like balmiest summer, stole thy lips to mine. Oh! at still eve, my heart how didst thou bless! Come back, my child! I wander hopeless-hearted Where'er thy little feet have dancing stray'd; Sad is the home whence thy sweet face hath parted— Silent the nursery where thou'st prattling played! Earth wears for me but one unvarying gloom, O'ershadowed by the thought that thou art in the tomb! Come back to me, my child! though but in dreams Thine angel-image let me clasp once more! If, haply, o'er my couch still slumber gleams, The night-time may thy rosy lips restore, Thy downy cheek laid lovingly to mine,Thy sweet "my mother," in thy dreaming sleep While thy small arms around me closer twine. My idol-boy! I wake to weep, Never again on earth shall I behold thee! Thou 'st left my side, and gone to other rest! My child! I know the Saviour's arms enfold thee, I know thou leanest on his pitying breast, A blessed lot! My child! O, ask for me, That where thy home is, mine ere long may be! MRS. E. J. EAMES. BEYOND THE RIVER. THERE are our loved ones in their rest; They've crossed Time's river—now no more They heed the bubbles on its breast, Nor feel the storms that sweep its shore But there pure love can live, can last— They look for us their home to share: When we in turn away have passed, What joyful greetings wait us there, Beyond the river. WHEN the wind blows, the blossoms fall; |