Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long

The cold dark hours, how slow the light!

And some who flaunt amid the throng,

Shall hide in dens of shame tonight.

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,

They pass and heed each other not. There is who heeds, who holds them all,

In His large love and boundless thought.

These struggling tides of life that

seem

In wayward, aimless course to tend,

Are eddies of the mighty stream
That rolls to its appointed end.

THE FUTURE LIFE.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps

The disembodied spirits of the dead, When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps

And perishes among the dust we tread?

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain

If there I meet thy gentle presence not;

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again

In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.

Yet though thou wearest the glory of the sky,

Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,

Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

me there?

That heart whose fondest throbs

to me were given ?

calmer home,

The wisdom that I learned so ill in this

prayer,

And must thou never utter it in heaven?

In meadows fanned by heaven's lifebreathing wind,

In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,

And larger movements of the unfettered mind,

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ?

The love that lived through all the stormy past,

And meekly with my harsher nature bore,

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,

Shall it expire with life, and be no more?

A happier lot than mine, and larger light,

Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will

In cheerful homage to the rule of right,

And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.

become

Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?

THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE, WITHIN this lowly grave a Conqueror lies,

And yet the monument proclaims it not,

Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought

The emblems of a fame that never dies,

Ivy and amaranth in a graceful sheaf, Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf.

A simple name alone,

To the great world unknown, Is graven here, and wild flowers, rising round,

Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground,

Lean lovingly against the humble stone.

Here in the quiet earth, they laid

apart

No man of iron mould and bloody hands,

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll;

And wrath has left its scar- - that fire of hell

Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

ering lands

The passions that consumed his restless heart;

But one of tender spirit and delicate frame,

Gentlest in mien and mind,
Of gentle womankind,

of blame;

state

Glory that with the fleeting season dies;

But when she entered at the sapphire gate

What joy was radiant in celestial eyes!

How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung;

And He who, long before, Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet,

Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat;

He who returning, glorious, from the grave,

Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave.

of the ground

In woodland cottages with barky walls, [town, In noisome cells of the tumultuous Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe,

Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore

Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out

And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit

New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight

Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long

Had wooed; and it hath heard, from lips which late

Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word,

That told the wedded one,

was flown.

Farewell to the sweet One glad day

her peace

sunshine!