Fading one, with the hectic streak,

In thy vein of fire and thy wasted cheek, Fear'st thou the shade of the darkened vale, Look to the guide who can never fail,

He hath trod it Himself, He will hear thy cry, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by."

ANON.

COWPER'S GRAVE.

It is a place where poets crowned
May feel the heart's decaying-
It is a place where happy saints
May weep amid their praying -
Yet let the grief and humbleness,
As low as silence, languish ;
Earth surely now may give her calm
To whom she gave her anguish.

O poets! from a maniac's tongue
Was poured the deathless singing!
O Christians! at your cross of hope
A hopeless hand was clinging!
O men! this man in brotherhood,
Your weary paths beguiling,

Groaned inly while he taught you peace,
And died while you were smiling.

*

But while in blindness he remained
Unconscious of the guiding,
And things provided came without
The sweet sense of providing,
He testified this solemn truth,
Though frenzy - desolated -

Nor man nor nature satisfy,
Whom only God created!

Like a sick child that knoweth not
His mother while she blesses,
And drops upon his burning brow
The coolness of her kisses;

That turns his fever'd eyes around

My mother! where's my mother?" As if such tender words and looks Could come from any other!

The fever gone, with leaps of heart
He sees her bending o'er him;
Her face all pale from watchful love,
The unweary love she bore him!
Thus woke the poet from the dream
His life's long fever gave him,
Beneath those deep pathetic eyes,

Which closed in death to save him.

Thus: oh, not thus! no type of earth
Could image that awaking,

Wherein he scarcely heard the chant
Of seraphs round him breaking-
Or felt the new immortal throb
Of soul from body parted;

But felt those eyes alone, and knew

66

My Saviour! not deserted!"

Deserted! who hath dreamt that when

The cross in darkness rested

Upon the victim's hidden face,

No love was manifested?

What frantic hands outstretched have e'er

The atoning drops averted

What tears have washed them from the soul

That one should be deserted?

Deserted! God could separate

From his own essence rather:
And Adam's sins have swept between
The righteous Son and Father;
Yea! once Immanuel's orphaned cry
His universe hath shaken -

It went up single, echoless,
'My God, I am forsaken!"

66

It went up from the Holy's lips
Amid his lost creation,

That of the lost, no son should use

Those words of desolation;

That, earth's worst frenzies, marring hope,
Should mar not hope's fruition;

And I, on Cowper's grave, should see
His rapture, in a vision !

MRS. BROWNING.

GONE.

Another hand is beckoning us,
Another call is given;

And glows once more with angel steps
The path which reaches heaven.

We miss her in the place of prayer,
And by the hearth-fire's light;
We pause beside her door to hear
Once more her sweet "Good-night!"

There seems a shadow on the day,
Her smile no longer cheers;

A dimness on the stars of night,
Like eyes that look through tears.

Alone unto our Father's will

One thought hath reconciled

That he whose love exceedeth ours
Has taken home his child.

Fold her, O Father, in thine arms;
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between

Our human hearts and thee.

Still let her mild rebuking stand
Between us and the wrong,
And her dear memory serve to make
Our faith in goodness strong.

And grant that she, who, trembling here,

Distrusted all her powers,

May welcome to her holier home.
The well-beloved of ours.

WHITTIER.

RESIGNATION.

There is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howso'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;