And the mother gave, with tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love ;

But she knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

Oh, not in cruelty-not in wrath!
The Reaper came that day;

"Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

LONGFELLOW.

DIVINE PROTECTION.

Is thy path lonely? fear it not, for He
Who marks the sparrow's fall is guarding thee!
And not a star shines o'er thy path by night,
But he hath known that it will reach thy sight;
And not a joy can beautify thy lot,

But tells thee still that thou art unforgot.

And not a grief can darken, or surprise,
Swell in thy heart, or dim with tears thine eyes,
But it is sent in mercy and in love,

To bid thy helplessness seek strength above!

THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP.

87

THE CHILD'S LAST SLEEP.

THOU sleepest-but when wilt thou wake, fair child,
When the fawn awakes 'midst the forest wild?
When the lark's wing mounts with the breeze of
morn?

When the first rich breath of the rose is born?
Lovely thou sleepest! yet something lies
Too deep, and still, on thy soft-sealed eyes;
Mournful, though sweet, is thy rest to see—
When will the hour of thy rising be?

Not when the fawn wakes, not when the lark
On the crimson cloud of the morn floats dark,-
Grief, with vain passionate tears hath wet
The hair, shedding gleams from thy pale brow yet;
Love with sad kisses unfelt, hath prest

Thy meek-dropped eyelids and quiet breast;
And the glad Spring, calling out bird and bee,
Shall colour all blossoms, fair child, but thee.

Thou'rt gone from us, bright one, that thou shouldst die,

And life be left to the butterfly.

Thou'rt gone, as a dew-drop is swept from the bough,

Oh, for the world where thy home is now!

How may we love but in doubt and fear?
How may we anchor our fond hearts here?
How should e'en joy but a trembler be,
Beautiful dust! when we look on thee?

MRS. HEMANS.

RECOGNITION.

I felt that, however long to me
The slumber of the grave might be,

I should know him again 'mid the countless throng
Who shall bear their part in the seraphim's song.

L. E. L.

How shall we know them, the infant race?
How will the mother her loved one trace?
Not by the glance of his sunny eye,
'Twas but a gleam o'er mortality;
Not by his look when he sank to rest,

A closing flower on her throbbing breast;
But by a feeling like that which burned,

When her heart o'er the guileless stranger yearned;
By a thrill like that, which, when first he smiled,
Came o'er her soul-will she know her child.

FROM THE SACRED OFFERING.

A VOICE FROM A LITTLE GRAVE. 89

A VOICE FROM A LITTLE GRAVE.

Are they not ministering spirits?

WEEP not for me, sweet mother; if aught can mar my perfect happiness, it is to see thy tears. I am not sleeping beneath the little green hillock, which in thy love thou hast planted with bright flowers and watered with thy tears. In this quiet and lovely spot, thou hast lain my cast-off garment, but that which animated it and endeared it to thy heart, is, on angels' wings, hovering ever round thee.. I am one of the glorious "cloud of witnesses that encompass thee;" when busied with thy toils, I watch beside thee, and see thee ever brushing away the sorrowing tear. When kneeling before thy Maker, I am with thee; when alone and sad thou sittest and weepest at my grave-side, then am I on bright wings hovering over thee; when troubled slumbers fall upon thee, I am guarding with my now unsleeping eyes thy beloved form. Seest thou me not, sweet mother; lift up, not thy bodily eye, but thine eye of faith; then wilt thou look upon me. Listen with the ear of faith, and thou shalt hear my tiny harp and the "new song" I am singing to "Him who sitteth upon the throne." Oh, you would not wish to recall me to your earthly home, could you form even a

faint conception of my present bliss, or the glories of my new home. Let my name be dear and familiar in your home, and often speak of me to my little playmates, with smiles and a cheerful heart. Let them not think of me as lost, or dead, but living for ever in a bright and beautiful land where nothing can disappoint us, or make us weary or sad, where there are no tears, nor sickness, nor death; where the blessed Saviour folds his little lambs in his arms and loves them.

WE are forbidden to murmur, but we are not forbidden to regret; and what we have loved tenderly while living, we may still pursue with an affectionate remembrance, without having any occasion to charge ourselves with rebellion against the sovereignty that appointed a separation.

COWPER.

WE see Thy hand, it leads us, it supports us; We hear Thy voice, it counsels, and it courts us; And then we turn away-and still Thy kindness Pardons our blindness.

BOWRING.