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There are who for thy last, long sleep
Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore, — Shall weep because thou canst not weep,
And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er.
Sad thrift of love! the loving breast
On which the aching head was thrown, Gave up the weary head to rest,
But kept the aching for its own.
T. K. HERVEY.
CROSSING THE BAR.
SUNSET and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless
deep Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark! And may
there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark ;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
When I have crost the bar.
I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
So long Thy power has blest me, suv it still
Will lead me on
The night is gone,
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.
THERE IS NO DEATH.
THERE is no death! The stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore,
They shine forever more.
There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change beneath the Summer showers To golden grain or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.
The granite rocks disorganize
To feed the hungry moss they bear; The forest leaves drink daily life
From out the viewless air.
There is no death! The leaves may fall,
The flower may fade and pass away; They only wait through the Wintry hours
The coming of the May.
There is no death! An aged form
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; ht'murs our best loved things away,
And the. we call them “ dead.”
He leaves our hearts all uenlate;
He plucks our sweetest, fairest flovers ; Transplanted into bliss, they now
Adorn immortal bowers.
The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones
Made glad the scenes of sin and strife, Sings now an everlasting song
Amid the Tree of Life.
And where he sees a smile too bright,
Or heart too pure for sin and vice, He bears it to that world of light
To dwell in Paradise.
Born unto that undying life,
They leave us but to come again ; With joy we welcome them—the same
Except in sin and pain.
And even near us, though unseen,
The dear immortal spirits tread;
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT.
IF I should die to-night, My friends would look upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting place, And deem that death had left it almost fair; And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair, Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness, And fold my hands with lingering caress; Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
If I should die to-night, My friends would call to mind, with loving thought, Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought; Some gentle word the frozen lips had said ; Errands on which the willing feet had sped; The memory of my selfishness and pride, My hasty words, would all be put aside, And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.
If I should die to-night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, Recalling other days remorsefully, The eyes
that chill me with averted glance Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, And soften, in the old, familiar way, For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay ? So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night.
Oh, friends, I pray to-night,