« 上一頁繼續 »
will renew their beauty, while the resurrection alone can revive the tenant of the grave. Perhaps these early impressions sank deeply into his heart, and brought forth in after years fair fruits of faith and virtue. Towards the close of life, the aged Christian pilgrim revisits the little spot be planted, and finds the flowers he cultivated fresh and fair, as when they first sprang to reward his infant toil. He feels their mortal existence will long outlast his own; perchance they may bloom for centuries to come. Yet he knows that these fair things of time are only for a season; while he shall rise from the dust, to die no more. The trumpet of the Archangel,that rings the knell of earth and earthly things, shall bid him awake in renewed beauty to everlasting life.
J. M. S.
WRITTEN TO ACCOMPANY A PICTURE OF A MOTHER WEEPING OVER A CHILD, FOR WHOM AN ANGEL IS WAITING.
DARLING of my anguished heart,
Must I see thy life depart?
Solace of our pilgrim way,
Little comforter, O stay!
Heir of immortality!
I am sent thy guide to be
To an everlasting home
Which awaits thee hither come!
Star, amidst our darkening night,
Spot of mercy, ever bright,
Summoned to a higher sphere,
Where nor time nor death appear;
Shall thy lisping music, dear,
Thou shalt learn a loftier song,
Yet, awhile, with me abide :
My all is thine to take away,
WHAT IS DEATH?
BY MRS. MOODIE.
WHAT is death? My sister, say,
Attunes its dirge-like music for the brave; These ruins, where the wild bird builds its nest,
Glitter'd of old with many a Roman crest; And here, when summer dews embalm the ground,
The imaged coins of Cæsar's race are found; That race, whose eagles, with their wing unfurl'd,
Extended Roman sway o'er half the world; And boldly dared the billows' stormy foam, To make this isle their tributary home.