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IN MEMORIAM W. W. A.
HE shattered water plashes down the ledge;
The long ledge slants and bends between its walls,
Of shelvy rock, in thin and foamy falls, –
Up by this path along the streamlet's brink,
Into the cool ravine his footsteps wore; That was in other days—I bow and think
In sadness of the wealthy days of yore, The fair far days, so wholly gone away, When love, and hope, and youth before us boundless lay.
He was a kind of genius of the glen,
The soul of sunshine in its heart of gloom; Nature's great mansion, wide to other men,
Here for the gentlest guest reserved a room, Where she, in secret from the general throng, Welcomed him fleeing oft, and cheered him lingering long.
But hospitable Nature seeks him now,
Through her wide halls or cloistered cells in vain; The wistful face, the early-wrinkled brow,
The peace that touched and purified the pain, The slender form, dilate with noble thought, The woman's welcoming smile for all fair things he brought;
The light, quick step, elastic but not strong,
Alert with springing spirit and tempered nervem Type of the heart direct that sped along
Swiftly where duty led, and did not swerve For count of odds, or dread of earthly loss, Buoyed with the costliest strength to bear the heaviest cross; OUR BABY.
These tokens of that gracious presence here,
O Nature, you and I together mourn; But you and I, O Nature, have our cheer
Concerning him that helps our loss be borneYou mould his dust to keepsake grass and flower, What warmed his dust moulds me to forms of finer power.
WILLIAM C. WILKINSON.
HEN the morning, half in shadow,
Ran along the hill and meadow,
Not enough of earth for sinning,
When the morning, half in shadow,
Now the litter she doth lie on,
The River Path.
N° bird-song foated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still ;
No rustle from the birchen stem,
The dusk of twilight round us dread,
THE RIVER PATH.
For, from us ere the day was done,
But on the river's farther side,
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
With us the damp, the chill, the gloom;
While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
From out the darkness where we trod,
Whose light seemed not of morn or sun;
We paused, as if from that bright shore
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
Sudden our pathway turned from right;
Through their green gates the sunshine showed,
Down glade and glen and bank it rolled :
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
“So,” prayed we, “when our feet draw near The river dark with mortal fear,
" And the night cometh, chill with dew,
“So let the hills of doubt divide,
“So let the eyes that fail on earth
“And in thy beckoning angels know
JOHN G. WHITTIER.
The Golden Street.
Oh, Father, I am weary of the way!
And let the fever of my world-worn feet
Tired, -very tired! And I at times have seen,
When the far pearly gates were open thrown
At last wave over those whose world-worn feet
When the gates open, and before they close
Sad hours but holy--I have watched the tide
To think how long until my world-worn feet