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She sits beneath the elder shade in that long mortal
swoon, And piteously on her wan cheek looks down the gentle
moon ; And when her senses are restored, whom sees she at
her side, But her, believed in childhood to have wandered off and
In these small hands, so lily-white, is water from the
spring, And a grateful coolness drops from it, as from an an
gel's wing, And to her mother's pale lips her rosy lips are laid, While these long, soft eye-lashes drop tears on her
She stirs not in her child's embrace, but yields her old
grey hairs, Unto the heavenly dew of tears, the heavenly breath
of prayers ; ; No voice hath she to bless her child, till that strong fit
go by, But gazeth on the long-lost face and then upon the sky.
The Sabbath morn was beautiful, and the long Sabbath
day ; The evening star rose beautiful, when daylight died
away ; Morn, day, and twilight, this lone glen flowed over
with delight, But the fulness of all mortal joy. hath blessed the Sabbath night.
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
“Shall I have nought that is fair," saith he,
“ Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again."
He kissed their drooping leaves ;
He bound them in his sheaves.
“ The Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said and smiled ; “ Dear tokens of the earth are they
Where he was once a child.
They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
These sacred blossoms wear.”
The flowers she most did love,
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
The Reaper came that day!
TO J. G. S.
I saw a young and tender tree,
Where leaves were few, and fruit was none, Raising its green and slender stalk
To imbibe the dew, and feel the sun;
I saw a noisy little stream,
Leaping and sparkling all the day,
As clear and fast they sped away ;
Changing with every passing breeze,
Now fair as gems in Persian seas;
And such, my April boy, e'en now,
In fickle infancy, art thou ! The stately tree, through shine and storm, Shall rear its fair and useful form; The river, rolling far and wide, Shall bless the nations with its tide ; The cloud, which seems of little worth, Shall join the showers which glad the earth ; And thus, dear boy, we trust to see Bright promises fulfilled in thee!
“ THOU ART SAFE IN HEAVEN, MY DOVE!”
Thou darling child ! through many an hour
I've watched thy frolic play,
To bid thy light heart stay ;
To keep thee still that lovely thing,
So frank and undefiled,
A glad, confiding child.
And when that sweet-toned voice sang out
Its varied notes of glee,
Than those might come to thee.
When sped thy joy-winged footsteps fast,
Springing so free and light,
To keep thee in the right.
Poured forth affection's flow,
A chill on that pure glow.
That grief thou ne'er should'st know !
By bitter floods of woe. 'Tis done and now the seal is set,
Which keeps thee always bright; The soul, which has been stainless yet,
Shall never feel earth's blight.
Art thou secured from ill !
It is our Father's will.
“IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD.”
We wake, but hear no morning song,
From childhood's merry voice;