I SEE THEE STILL. I SEE thee still; Remembrance, faithful to her trust, I see thee still, In every hallowed token round;- This book was thine; here didst thou read; I see thee still. I see thee still; Here was thy summer noon's retreat, Here was thy favorite fireside seat; This was thy chamber- here, each day, Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie; I see thee still; Thou art not in the grave confined - st; Thee, O my Sister! 't is not thee CHARLES SPRAGUE. ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. A GUARDIAN ANGEL bore it to the shore Where souls embark upon Life's stormy sea, When, turning from the angry billows' roar, The infant cried, "O take me back with thee!" TO A MOTHER ON LOSING AN INFANT DAUGHTER. GOD does nothing without a reason. - it may That have reason may have respect to you respect to your child, and not unlikely to both. He sees effects in their causes. Your case may have been this: you may have been in danger of loving the world too much, and He removed the cause in time. Her case may have been this: she may have been in danger from the growth of a corrupt nature, and He took her in the bud of being that she might grow without imperfection, "for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Think of your child, then, not as dead but as living, not as a flower that is withered, but as one that is transplanted, and, touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colors and sweeter shades than those of earth, though to your eyes these last may have been beautiful, more beautiful than you will hope to see again. "With patient mind thy course of duty run, But thou wouldst do thyself if thou could'st see REV. HERMAN HOOKER. THE THIRD SON. I HAVE a son, a third sweet son; For they reckon not by years and months, Where he hath gone to dwell. To us, for fourteen anxious months I cannot tell what form is his, The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, But I know, for God hath told me this, That he is now at rest, Where other blessed infants are, On their Saviour's loving breast. Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, His bliss can never cease; Their lot may here be grief and fear, It may be that the tempter's wiles When we think on what our darling is, And what we still must be; When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, When we groan beneath this load of sin, O, we'd rather lose our other two, Than have him here again. REV. J. MOULTRIE. THE YOUNGEST. I ROCKED her in the cradle, And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest. |