O, blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver

head!

A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the sin;

Now, though my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in.

Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be;

For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for

me.

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the deathwatch beat,

There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet;

But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine,

And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels

call,

It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;

The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to

roll,

And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.

For, lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie

dear;

I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer

here;

With all my strength I prayed for both,-and so I felt resigned,

And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed;

And then did something speak to me,-I know not what was said;

For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,

And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them, it's mine;"

And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.

And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars;

Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among the stars.

So now I think my time is near; I trust it is. I know

The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.

And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day; But Effie, you must comfort her when I am past

away.

And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not

to fret;

There's many a worthier than I, would make him happy yet.

If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife;

But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

O, look! the sun begins to rise! the heavens are in

a glow;

He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know.

And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine,

Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done

The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the

sun,

Forever and forever with those just souls and

true,―

And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?

Forever and forever, all in a blessèd home,And there to wait a little while till you and Effie

come,

To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast,

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

ON ANNE ALLEN.

THE wind blew keenly from the Western sea, And drove the dead leaves slanting from the

tree

Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saithHeaping them up before her Father's door When I saw her whom I shall see no moreWe cannot bribe thee, Death.

She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung-
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith-
Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good-
She knew thee not, O Death.

She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now;

Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith

And if one sighed to think that it was sere,

She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!

She feared thee not, O Death.

Blooming she came back to the cheerful room
With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom—
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith-
A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,
And placed the fairest at her Father's side-
She cannot charm thee, Death.

Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;
We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall-
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith-
We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,
As she went singing softly up the stair-
No voice can charm thee, Death.

Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind, That made sweet music of the winter wind? Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith

Idly they gaze upon her empty place,

Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face—
She is with thee, O Death.

YEA, Love is strong as life; he casts out fear,
And wrath, and hate, and all our envious foes;
He stands upon the threshold, quick to close
The gate of happiness ere should appear
Death's dreaded presence-ay, but Death draws
near,

And large and gray the towering outline grows,
Whose face is veiled and hid; and yet Love knows
Full well, too well, alas! that Death is here.
Death tramples on the roses; Death comes in,
Though Love, with outstretched arms and wings
outspread,