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What! though our bird of light

Lie mute with plumage dim!
In heaven I see her glancing bright-
I hear her angel hymn.

What! though the dark tree smile

No more with our dove's calm sleep,
She folds her wing on a sunny isle
In heaven's untroubled deep.

True that our beauteous doe
Hath left her still retreat,—
But purer now in heavenly snow
She lies at Jesus' feet.

O star! untimely set,

Why should we weep for thee?
Thy bright and dewy coronet
Is rising o'er the sea!



COME near!-ere yet the dust

Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now
In still and solemn trust!

Come near! once more let kindred lips be press'd On his cold cheek, then bear him to his rest,

Look yet on this young face!

What shall the beauty from amongst us gone,
Leave of its image e'en where most it shone,
Gladdening its hearth and race?

Dim grows the semblance, on man's thought im


Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest.

Ye weep, and all is well!

For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday
Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,
And sunshine scem'd to dwell

Where'er he moved-the welcomed and the bless'd! Now gaze, and bear the silent to his rest.

Look yet on him, whose eye

Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth!
Was he not fair amongst the sons of earth,
The beings born to die?

But not where death has power, may love be


-Come near, and bear ye the beloved to rest.

How may the mother's heart

Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again?
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,
The lovely must depart!

Is he not gone, our brightest and our best?
-Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest.

Look on him is he laid

To slumber from the harvest or the chase?
-Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
Yet that, e'en that must fade!

Death will not hold unchanged his fairest guest,
Come near, and bear the mortal to his rest.

His voice of mirth hath ceased

Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place For him whose dust receives your last embrace, At the gay bridal feast!

Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast; Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest.

Yet mourn ye not as they

Whose spirit's light is quench'd-for him the past
Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast
His birthright's hope away!
All is not here of our beloved and bless'd,
-Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest.

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"Weep ye not for the dead, neither bewail him." JER. XXII. 10.

WEEP not for those whose race is run,

Their prize is gain'd, their toil is past; To them the power of grief is done,

And misery's storm has frown'd its last! They sleep in Christ the sleep of peace,

Unflush'd by dreams of earthly sorrow, Till earthly days and nights shall cease,

Before a bright and glorious morrow!

But weep for those who yet remain,

The feverish weight of life sustaining, The frown of scorn, the sting of pain,

And secret anguish uncomplaining: Weep for the living-they who rest

Within their last and happiest dwelling, Are senseless of the vain bequest

Of tears, and sighs, successive swelling.

Weep o'er the cradle-not the tomb!

Lament the dawn, and not the ending, Of that tempestuous day of gloom,

Whose sun is bright but when descending.

Weep for the bands who still maintain
The strife with labour undiminish'd;
Departed saints-their death is gain,

Their spoils are reap'd, their conflict finish'd.


A TOMB, as has been justly said, is a monument situated on the confines of both worlds. It at once presents to us the termination of the in.quietudes of life, and sets before us the image of eternal rest. There,' in the eloquent expressions of Job, 'the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. The small and the great are there; and the servant is free from his master.' It is very remarkable, that in all languages, and among all nations, death has been described in a style of this kind; expressed by figures of speech, which convey every. where the same idea of rest, or sleep, or retreat from the evils of life. Such a style perfectly agrees with the general belief of the soul's immortality, but assuredly conveys no high idea of the boasted pleasures of the world. It shows how much all mankind have felt this life to be a scene of trouble and care; and have agreed in opinion, that perfect rest is to be expected only in the grave.



"MOTHER, how still the baby lies!
I cannot hear his breath;
I cannot see his laughing eyes-
They tell me this is death.

My little work I thought to bring,
And sat down by his bed,
And pleasantly I tried to sing-
They hush'd me he is dead.

They say that he again will rise,
More beautiful than now;
That God will bless him in the skies-
O, mother, tell me how !"

Daughter, do you remember, dear,
The cold, dark thing you brought,
And laid upon the casement here,—
A wither'd worm, you thought?
I told you that almighty power

Could break that wither'd shell,
And show you, in a future hour,

Something would please you well. Look at the chrysalis, my love,An empty shell it lies;Now raise your wandering glance above, To where yon insect flies!"


"O, yes, mamma! how very gay
Its wings of starry gold!
And see! it lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.

O, mother, now I know full well,

If God that worm can change, And draw it from this broken cell,

On golden wings to range,— How beautiful will brother be,

When God shall give him wings, Above this dying world to flee,

And live with heavenly things!"


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