"Look at the chrysalis, my love,-
An empty shell it lies,-

Now raise your wandering glance above,
To where yon insect flies."

66

Oh, yes, mamma! how very gay

Its wings of starry gold!

And see! It lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.

"Oh, mother, now I know full well
If God that worm could change,
And draw it from this broken shell
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!"

THE LITTLE LONELY GRAVE.

77

THE LITTLE LONELY GRAVE.

Он, very sad it makes me feel,

Thus leaving these dear scenes,
The home of many happy days,
And many sunny dreams,

And friends, whose love around
Is shed like holy beams.

my

heart

But 'tis not for my friends, or home,

For whom I linger still;

Oh no! a little lonely grave
Beneath yon gentle hill

Calls up these tears-and broken sobs
Afflict against my will.

A little grave !-the stranger's eye
Would hardly note the spot,

So unobtrusive is its form

At them I wonder not;

Yet by some hearts, I know full well,

"Twill never be forgot.

But ah!-'tis every thing to me

This little mound of

green,

Though now the little form beneath

Is crumbling dust I ween,

Yet oh! most precious doth the dust
Of such a treasure seem.

Thoughts of that little lonely grave,
Beneath the green-hill shade,
Come over me with anguish new
As when it first was made,

And "earth to earth"-and "dust to dust,"
Their fearful sound conveyed.

For there within-my first-born son

Was laid in slumber fair,

So life-like, that I did mistrust

That death was imaged there;

They heaped the dark mould o'er his head And said a holy prayer.

And there he sleeps-so wonder not
That thus my tears will flow,
That little grave-that lonely grave,-

To leave unguarded so;

While far away from those sad scenes
I must for ever go.

Who'll guard that little hillock green,
The tombstone at its head,
That little, lonely, cherished grave
That holds my treasured dead?
May God-and angels watch above
My blessed infant's bed.

LIGHT IN A DARK HOUR.

Full well I know the Saviour saith

"Of such my kingdom is ;"

I know the spirit of my child

Is robed in perfect bliss.
Thrice wretched! oh, indeed, were I,
Had He not told me this!

But oh! that little lonely grave

Is all that I can see

Of the sweet form that was the joy
Of all my life to me!
Will God forgive if mortals thus
Cleave to mortality?

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LIGHT IN A DARK HOUR.

1 BENT o'er the corpse of my first-born in wo, The glad voice was hushed, the light step was

still,

All brightness seemed gone from my desolate home,

No transport, no peace, my sad heart could fill;

Then, then, thou drew'st near me,

Dear Saviour, to cheer me,

And tranquilly, meekly, I leaned on thy love.

ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLE BOY.

'Tis not for thee, thou precious child, 'tis not for thee we weep,

For thou art where the storms of life, by thee unheeded, sweep;

Thou art among the favoured ones, the highly blest of God,

Who, early called from earth away, ne'er felt the chastening rod.

Nor canst thou feel as if alone, for one thou lovedst on earth

Was ready in the spirit-land to hail thy second

birth,

With thee to tune her little harp, and raise her infant voice

Among the ever-gathering throng who round the throne rejoice.

But 'tis for those whose early hopes were fondly fixed on thee,

Who had, with deep affection, watched thy budding infancy;

For them we weep, and breathe the prayer that God would be their stay,

And pour, into their wounded hearts, sweet consolation's ray;