What! though our bird of light What! though the dark tree smile No more with our dove's calm sleep, True that our beauteous doe Why should we weep for thee? Thy bright and dewy coronet PROF. WILSON. THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. COME near!-ere yet the dust Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow, Come near! once more let kindred lips be press'd Look yet on this young face! What shall the beauty from amongst us gone, Dim grows the semblance, on man's thought impress'd; Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest. Ye weep, and all is well! For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday Where'er he moved-the welcomed and the bless'd! Look yet on him, whose eye Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth! But not where death has power, may love be bless'd! Come near, and bear ye the beloved to rest. How may the mother's heart Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again? Is he not gone, our brightest and our best? Look on him! is he laid To slumber from the harvest or the chase? Death will not hold unchanged his fairest guest, His voice of mirth hath ceased Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast; Yet mourn ye not as they Whose spirit's light is quench'd-for him the past All is not here of our beloved and bless'd, MRS. HEMANS. FOR WHOM SHOULD WE WEEP 'Weep ye not for the dead, neither bewail him." JER. XXII. 10. WEEP not for those whose race is run,- And misery's storm has frown'd its last! But weep for those who yet remain, The feverish weight of life sustaining, The frown of scorn, the sting of pain, And secret anguish uncomplaining; Weep for the living-they who rest Within their last and happiest dwelling, Are senseless of the vain bequest Of tears, and sighs, successive swelling. Weep o'er the cradle-not the tomb! Lament the dawn, and not the ending, Weep for the bands who still maintain THE TOM B. It A TOMB, as has been justly said, is a monument situated on the confines of both worlds. at once presents to us the termination of the in.quietudes of life, and sets before us the image of eternal rest. There,' in the eloquent expressions of Job, the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor. The small and the great are there; and the servant is free from his master. It is very remarka. ble, that in all languages, and among all nations, death has been described in a style of this kind; expressed by figures of speech, which convey every. where the same idea of rest, or sleep, or retreat from the evils of life. Such a style perfectly agrces with the general belief of the soul's immortality, but assuredly conveys no high idea of the boasted pleasures of the world. It shows how much all mankind have felt this life to be a scene of trouble and care; and have agreed in opinion, that perfect rest is to be expected only in the grave. MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH! "MOTHER, how still the baby lies! I cannot see his laughing eyes- BLAIR. My little work I thought to bring, They say that he again will rise, That God will bless him in the skies- Daughter, do you remember, dear, Now raise your wandering glance above, "O, yes, mamma! how very gay O, mother, now I know full well, How beautiful will brother be, MRS. GILMAN. |