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He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will !

Oh! thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers “Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well !”

FOLLEN.

ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE

FUTURE STATE."

FRIEND of my soul as with moist eye

I look up from this page of thine, Is it a dream that thou art nigh,

Thy mild face gazing into mine ?

That presence seems before me now,

A placid heaven of sweet moonrise,
When dew-like, on the earth below

Descends the quiet of the skies.
The calm brow through the parted hair,

The gentle lips which knew no guile,
Softening the blue eye's thoughtful care

With the bland beauty of their smile.

Ah me at times that last dread scene

Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea, Will cast its shade of doubt between

The failing eyes of Faith and thee.

Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page,

Where through the twilight air of earth, Alike enthusiast and sage,

Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth ;

Lifting the Future's solemn veil;

The reaching of a mortal hand To put aside the cold and pale

Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land;

In thoughts which answer to my own,

In words which reach my inward ear, Like whispers from the void Unknown,

I feel thy living presence here.

The waves which lull thy body's rest,

The dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod, Unwasted, through each change, attest

The fixed economy of God.

Shall these poor elements outlive

The mind whose kingly will they wrought ? Their gross unconsciousness survive

Thy Godlike energy of thought ? THOU LIVEST, FOLLENS_not in vain

Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne The burthen of Life's cross of pain,

And the thorned crown of suffering worn. Oh! while Life's solemn mystery glooms

Around us like a dungeon's wallSilent earth's pale and crowded tombs,

Silent the heaven which bends o'er all !

While day by day our loved ones glide

In spectral silence, hushed and lone, To the cold shadows which divide

The living from the dread Unknown;

While even on the closing eye,.

And on the lip which moves in vain, The seals of that stern mystery

Their undiscovered trust retain ;

And only midst the gloom of death,

Its mournful doubts and haunting fears, Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,

Smile dimly on us through their tears; T is something to a heart like mine

To think of thee as living yet; To feel that such a light as thine Could not in utter darkness set.

Less dreary seems the untried way

Since thou hast left thy footprints there, And beams of mournful beauty play

Round the sad Angel's sable hair. Oh at this hour when half the sky

Is glorious with its evening light, And fair broad fields of summer lie

Hung o'er with greenness in my sight; While through these elm boughs wet with rain

The sunset's golden walls are seen, With clover bloom and yellow grain

And wood-draped hill and stream between;

I long to know if scenes like this

Are hidden from an angel's eyes; If earth's familiar loveliness

Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies.

For sweetly here

upon
thee

grew
The lesson which that beauty gave,
The ideal of the Pure and True

In earth and sky and gliding wave. And it may be that all which lends

The soul an upward impulse here, With a diviner beauty blends,

And greets us in a holier sphere.

Through groves where blighting never fell

The humbler flowers of earth may twine ; And simple draughts from childhood's well

Blend with the angel-tasted wine. But be the prying vision veiled,

And let the seeking lips be dumb,— Where even seraph eyes have failed

Shall mortal blindness seek to come ?

We only know that thou hast gone,

And that the same returnless tide Which bore thee from us still glides on,

And we who mourn thee with it glide. On all thou lookest we shall look,

And to our gaze ere long shall turn That

page of God's mysterious book We so much wish, yet dread to learn.

With Him, before whose awful

power Thy spirit bent its trembling knee :Who, in the silent greeting flower,

And forest leaf, looked out on thee,

We leave thee, with a trust serene,

Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, While with thy childlike faith we lear

On Him whose dearest name is Love!

TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND

God bless ye, brothers in the fight

Ye're waging now, ye cannot fail, For better is your sense of right

Than king-craft's triple mail.

Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban

More mighty is your simplest word; The free heart of an honest man

Than crosier or the sword.

Go_let your bloated Church rehearse

The lesson it has learned so well; It moves not with its prayer or curse

The gates of Heaven or hell. Let the State scaffold rise again

Did Freedom die when Russel died ? Forget ye how the blood of Vane

From earth's green bosom cried ?

The great hearts of your olden time

Are beating with you, full and strong All holy memories and sublime

And glorious round ye throng.

The bluff, bold men of Runnymede

Are with ye still in times like these ; The shades of England's mighty dead,

Your cloud of witnesses !

The truths ye urge are borne abroad

By every wind and every tide; The voice of Nature and of God

Speaks out upon your side.

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