GONE, gone

THRENODIA.

from us! and shall we see

Those sybil-leaves of destiny,

Those calm eyes, nevermore?

Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright,
Wherein the features of the man

Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O stern word - Nevermore!

The stars of those two gentle eyes
Will shine no more on earth;

Quenched are the hopes that had their birth, As we watched them slowly rise,

Stars of a mother's fate;

And she would read them o'er and o'er,
Pondering as she sate,

Over their dear astrology

Which she had conned and conned before,

Deeming she needs must read aright
What was writ so passing bright.

And yet, alas! she knew not why

Her voice would falter in its song,

And tears would slide from out her eye, Silent, as they were doing wrong.

O stern word-Nevermore!

The tongue that scarce had learned to claim
An entrance to a mother's heart

By that dear talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!

I loved to see the infant soul
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest,
His lips, the while,

Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Or hushing to a smile

That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole

And snatched him to her breast!

O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,
That would have soared like strong-winged birds

Far, far, into the skies,
Gladdening the earth with song,

And gushing harmonies, Had he but tarried with us long! O stern word-Nevermore!

How peacefully they rest,
Cross-folded there

Upon his little breast,

Those small, white hands that ne'er were still

before,

But ever sported with his mother's hair,

Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore! Her heart no more will beat

To feel the touch of that soft palm, That ever seemed a new surprise, Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes, To bless him with their holy calm,

Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as sweet. How quiet are the hands

That wove those pleasant bands!

But that they do not rise and sink
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep.

Alas! too deep, too deep

Is this his slumber;

Time scarce can number

The years ere he will wake again..
O, may we see his eyelids open then!
O stern word-Nevermore !

As the airy gossamere,
Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly,
Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils spreading all about,
Knitting all things to its thrall
With a perfect love of all :

O stern word-Nevermore !

He did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening their fairy chime;

His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And, putting to the shore,
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,

To dwell with us no more;
No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land

Where he was seen no more:
O stern word-Nevermore !

Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave.

He seemed a cherub who had lost his way
And wandered hither, so his stay

With us was short, and 't was most meet That he should be no delver in earth's clod, Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God:

O blest word-Evermore!

J. R. LOWELL.

GOD KNOWS WHAT IS BEST FOR US.

MOURNER, whatever may be your grief for the death of your children, it might have been still greater for their life. Bitter experience once led a good man to say, "It is better to weep for ten children dead, than for one living." Remember the heart-piercing affliction of David, whose son sought his life. Your love for your children will hardly admit of the thought of such a thing as possible, in your own case. They appeared innocent and amiable; and you fondly believed, that through your care and prayers, they would have become the joy of your hearts. But may not Esau, when a child, have promised as much comfort to his parents as Jacob? Probably he had as many of their prayers and counsels. But as years advanced, he despised their admonitions, and filled their hearts with grief. As a promoter of family religion, who ever received such an encomium from the God of heaven as Abraham? How tenderly did the good man pray for Ishmael! "O that Ishmael might live before Thee!" Yet how little comfort did Ishmael afford.