There are who for thy last, long sleep Sad thrift of love! the loving breast T. K. HERVEY. CROSSING THE BAR. SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. ALFRED TENNYSON, LEAD, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom, The night is dark, and I am far from home; Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou I loved to choose and see my path; but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, So long Thy power has blest me, so it still O'er moor and fen, o'a crag and torrent, till And with the morn those angel faces smile JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. THERE IS NO DEATH. THERE is no death! The stars go down To rise upon some fairer shore, And bright in Heaven's jewelled crown There is no death! The dust we tread Shall change beneath the Summer showers To golden grain or mellow fruit, Or rainbow-tinted flowers. The granite rocks disorganize To feed the hungry moss they bear; The forest leaves drink daily life From out the viewless air. There is no death! The leaves may fall, The flower may fade and pass away; They only wait through the Wintry hours The coming of the May. There is no death! An aged form He leaves our hearts all late; He plucks our sweetest, fairest fovers; The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones Amid the Tree of Life. And where he sees a smile too bright, Born unto that undying life, They leave us but to come again; With joy we welcome them—the same Except in sin and pain. And even near us, though unseen, Is life-there is no dead. EDWARD BULWER LYTTON. IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT. IF I should die to-night, My friends would look upon my quiet face And deem that death had left it almost fair; If I should die to-night, My friends would call to mind, with loving thought, If I should die to-night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, Recalling other days remorsefully, The eyes that chill me with averted glance Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, And soften, in the old, familiar way, For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay? So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night. Oh, friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow, |