Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, The silence — awful, sweet, and calm So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, And in the hush of rest they bring How lovely and how sweet a pass To close the eye and close the ear, And gently dream in loving arms Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Into our thoughts, into our prayers, Let death between us be as naught, Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. TWO WORLDS Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain, Bright haze of morning veils its glimmering shore. Intoxicating air — Glad were our hearts in that sweet realm of Nevermore. The lover there drank her delicious breath The merrysome maiden that used there to sing As some vexed memory starts It is perpetual summer there. But here And harebells quivering on the meadow-floor. For tenderer hearts and truer Upon the frontier of this shadowy land What realm lies forward, with its happier store Of valleys hushed in sleep, And lakes most peaceful? 'T is the land of Very far off its marble cities seem Very far off - beyond our sensual dream Its woods, unruffled by the wild wind's roar ; Howl on its very verge. One moment and we breathe within the They whom we loved and lost so long ago Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe Haunt those fresh woodlands, whence sweet carolings soar. God wipes their tears away; They drink that river of life which flows from Evermore. Thither we hasten through these regions dim, But, lo, the wide wings of the Seraphim Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore The sorrow-burdened past shall fade for Evermore. MORTIMER COLLINS. SPIRITUAL COMMUNIONS How pure at heart and sound in head, Should be the man whose thought would hold In vain shalt thou, or any, call The spirits from their golden day, They haunt the silence of the breast, The memory like a cloudless air, But when the heart is full of din, ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (In Memoriam). THE FUTURE LIFE How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, And larger movements of the unfettered mind, A happier lot than mine, and larger light For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. OVER THE RIVER OVER the river they beckon to me Loved ones who 've passed to the further side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view; My brother stands waiting to welcome me! Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, We felt it glide from the silver sands, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart, We may not sunder the veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day; May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea, And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; NANCY PRIEST WAKEFIELD. ONLY WAITING ONLY waiting till the shadows Of the day's last beam is flown; From the heart once full of day; Only waiting till the reapers Have the last sheaf gathered home; |