The mother let her loved one go,
Without a thought or word of woe.

A something told each yearning soul
Our guest was not of clay,
But an immortal from the goal
Where blest ones wing their way:
My children's eyes with tears grew dim-
"O father, let us follow him!"

And oft before my waking eyes

That mystic shape I see,

And then, O God, my spirit sighs

That I may pass to Thee,

As sought the babe that wanderer's breast,

Sinking with smiles into its rest.

THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

An awful shadow seems about me flying,

Unseen, impalpable, with noiseless wings;
It seems to whisper of the dead and dying,
And o'er my spirit saddening influence flings.

It haunts me when my laugh sounds of the lightest,. And all around imagine me most gay;

It clouds my feelings when the scene is brightest, And beaming eyes are lit with merry ray.

I think of those who knew me in life's morning,

When every nerve to rapture's pitch was strung, When joy and hope were all my thoughts adorning, And nature, like my life, look'd fresh and young.

What dreams we had of days that were a-coming,
What sunshine rested on our future hours;
We roam'd like bees, for ever gaily humming,
And gathering sweetness from all kinds of flowers.

Where are those co-mates, glad and buoyant

hearted?

I look around me, and I find not one; Some in the dawning of their days departed, Some lived to manhood's noon, but all are gone!

And even in their lives how were they scatter'd ! Distance or fate had made them kin no more; Some lived to see their hopes all dead and shatter'd, Whilst some through life a charm'd existence

bore.

At times I marvel why God here hath left me,
When worthier far have hasten'd to decay,
Whilst I, though time of many hath bereft me,
Have blessings still to cheer me on my way.

Like a deep bell, in solemn silence knolling,
Come ever and anon upon mine ear
Tidings of death, and frequent, 'mid the tolling,
A small voice whispers "Thou abid'st not here!"

I hear them speak of numbers who have perish'd, When the sought shore hath burst upon their

sight,

And all the hopes, which long their hearts had cherish'd,

Were whelm'd at once beneath the waves of night.

I hear them tell full many a painful story

Of sad disasters, scaring all the land,

Of shiver'd limbs, and bodies crush'd and gory— Yet never doubt the wisdom of Thy hand.

I hear of children and of parents dying,

Of mourners weeping round the couch of pain; But Thou I know canst soothe all human sighing, And never issuest Thy decrees in vain.

Some pass from earth like lights that shoot from heaven,

One moment seen, then vanish'd is their ray; To some long, lingering hours of pangs are given, Ere fades their light into Thy perfect day.

But what is that which we call "time?" Great Father,

A speck of dust compared with all of Thine; No tiny mortal mind may hope to gather One glimmering glimpse of that which is divine.

We only know Thee in Thy works of glory,

;

In all we see, and think, and feel, and hear And in Thy Book, where we may read the story

Of deeds that make us glorify and fear.

Away then, awful shadow !—I will banish
All that is sad and fearful from my

soul ;

I feel the terrors of thy presence vanish,

At thoughts of Him who made and rules the whole.

The eye of Him who marks "the sparrow's falling," Dwelleth for ever on each form of dust:

So let me then prepare to hear His calling, Thankful to live, but meeting death with trust.