The Day of Death.

Or with such a gradual pace
As shall leave me largest space
To regard thee face to face?

Shall I lay my drooping head
On some loved lap; round my bed
Prayer be made, and tears be shed?

Or at distance from mine own,
Name and kin alike unknown,
Make my solitary moan?

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Will there yet be things to leave, Hearts to which this heart must cleave, From which, parting, it must grieve ;

Or shall life's best ties be o'er,
And all loved things gone before
To that other happier shore?

Shall I gently fall on sleep,

Death, like slumber, o'er me creep,
Like a slumber sweet and deep?

Or the soul long strive in vain
To get free, with toil and pain,
From its half-divided chain?

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The Day of Death.

Little skills it where or how,

If thou comest then or now,
With a smooth or angry brow;

Come thou must, and we must die:
Jesus, Saviour, stand thou by,

When that last sleep seals our eye.

THE CLOUD ON THE WAY.

SEE before us in our journey broods a mist upon the ground;

Thither leads the path we walk in, blending with that gloomy bound:

Never eye hath pierced its shadows to the mystery they screen;

Those who once have passed within it never more on earth are seen.

Now it seems to stoop beside us, now at seeming distance lowers,

Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer-green and flowers:

Yet it blots the way forever; there our journey ends at last;

Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the past.

Thou who, in this flinty pathway, leading through a stranger-land,

Passest down the rocky valley, walking with me hand-in-hand,

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The Cloud on the Way.

Which of us shall be the soonest folded to that dim Unknown?

Which shall leave the other walking in this flinty path alone?

Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white with fear,

And thou clingest to my side as comes that darkness sweeping near.

"Here," thou sayst, "the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound the feet;

But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the rivulet's song is sweet;

Roses breathe from tangled thickets; lilies bend from ledges brown;

Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sunshine gushes down;

Dear are those who walk beside us, they whose looks and voices make

All this rugged region cheerful, till I love it for their sake.

Far be yet the hour that takes me where that chilly shadow lies,

From the things I know and love, and from the sight of loving eyes."

So thou murmurest, fearful one: but see, we tread a rougher way;

Fainter glow the gleams of sunshine that upon the dark rocks play;

The Cloud on the Way.

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Rude winds strew the faded flowers upon the

crags o'er which we pass;

Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass.

One by one we miss the voices which we loved so well to hear;

One by one the kindly faces in that shadow dis

appear.

Yet upon the mist before us fix thine eyes with closer view:

See, beneath its sullen skirts, the rosy morning glimmers through.

One whose feet the thorns have wounded, passed that barrier and came back,

With a glory on his footsteps lighting yet the dreary track.

Boldly enter where He entered; all that seems but darkness here,

When thou once hast passed beyond it, haply shall be crystal-clear.

Viewed from that serener realm, the walks of human life may lie,

Like the page of some familiar volume, open to thine eye;

Haply, from the overhanging shadow, thou mayst stretch an unseen hand,

To support the wavering steps that paint with blood the rugged land.

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