Already is the stain of earth-
The stamp of his terrestrial birth—
Changing for heaven's pure seal:
The angel's beauty now I see
Pledged in that sweet serenity;
And that unearthly smile to me
God's signet doth reveal.

But even here his guileless life—
His path with only flowerets rife—
Almost a cherub's seemed:

He knew no change from light to shade,
His soul its own glad sunshine made;
Where'er he paused, where'er he strayed,
Light all around him beamed.

If such hath been his life's first dawn,
Oh, what will be the glorious morn
Just opening on his soul!

Favored of Heaven! to wear the crown,
Life's weary race to thee unknown,
And sit with laureled conquerors down,
Who toiled to reach the goal.

But fading is that roseate hue;
And now cold pearly drops bedew

That brow of heavenly mould;

Fainter and fainter grows his breath:
Ah, now 'tis gone! Can this be death?

Oh, what so fair the heavens beneath,

So lovely to behold!

Newark, October 29, 1849.

E. C. K.

Suspiria.

TAKE them, O Death! and bear away
Whatever thou canst call thine own!
Thine image, stamped upon this clay,
Doth give thee that, but that alone!

Take them, O Grave! and let them lie
Folded upon thy narrow shelves,
As garments by the soul laid by,
And precious only to ourselves!

Take them, O great Eternity!

Our little life is but a gust,

That bends the branches of thy tree,

And trails its blossoms in the dust!

LONGFELLOW.

Bereavement.

NAY, weep not, dearest, though the child be dead; He lives again in heaven's unclouded life,

With other angels that have early fled

From the dark scenes of sorrow, sin, and strife; Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love. Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers, And e'en deny to brighter realms above

The few that deck this dreary world of ours. Though much it seems a wonder and a woe That one so loved should be so early lost, And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow

To mourn the blossom that we cherished mostYet all is well: GOD's good design I see,

That where our treasure is, our hearts may be!

JOHN G. SAXE.

On Seeing a Beceased Infant.

AND this is death! How cold and still,
And yet how lovely it appears!
Too cold to let the gazer smile,
And yet too beautiful for tears.
The sparkling eye no more is bright,
The cheek has lost its rose-like red;
And yet it is with strange delight
I stand and gaze upon the dead.

But when I see the fair, wide brow,
Half shaded by the silken hair,
That never looked so fair as now

When life and health were laughing there,
I wonder not that grief should swell
So wildly upward in the breast,
And that strong passion once rebel
That need not, cannot be suppressed.

I wonder not that parents' eyes,

In gazing thus, grow cold and dim; That burning tears and aching sighs

Are blended with the funeral hymn: The spirit hath an earthly part,

That weeps when earthly pleasure flies; And Heaven would scorn the frozen heart

That melts not when the infant dies.

And yet why mourn? That deep repose
Shall never more be broke by pain;
Those lips no more in sighs unclose,
Those eyes shall never weep again.
For think not that the blushing flower
Shall wither in the churchyard sod;
'Twas made to gild an angel's bower
Within the Paradise of God.

Once more I gaze, and swift and far
The clouds of death in sorrow fly;
I see thee, like a new-born star,

Move up thy pathway in the sky:
The star hath rays serene and bright,
But cold and pale compared with thine;
For thy orb shines with heavenly light,
With beams unfading and divine.

Then let the burthened heart be free,
The tears of sorrow all be shed,
And parents calmly bend to see

The mournful beauty of the dead:
Thrice happy, that their infant bears

To heaven no darkening stains of sin; And only breathed life's morning airs, Before its noonday storms begin.

Farewell! I shall not soon forget!

Although thy heart hath ceased to beat,

My memory warmly treasures yet

Thy features calm and mildly sweet.