TO MY FRIEND. 75 Like some gray rock from which the waves are tossed! Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not The faith of one whose walk and word were right Who tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought, II. Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan, Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace; What others talked of while their hands were still : In acts than words, was simply DOING GOOD. That, by his loss alone we know its worth, And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth. Sixth month 6th, 1846. TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER.6 THINE is a grief, the depth of which another Yet, o'er the waters, O, my stricken brother! I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding With even the weakness of my soul upholding I never knew, like thee, the dear departed; When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted And on thy ears my words of weak condoling The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling, I will not mock thee with the poor world's common Nor of a sainted woman wrong the memory With silence only as their benediction, Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, Yet, would I say what thy own heart approveth : Calling to Him the dear one whom He loveth, Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel― God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in his heaven. GONE. And she is with thee; in thy path of trial Still with the baptism of thy self-denial 77 Up, then, my brother! Lo, the fields of harvest Lie white in view! She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest To both is true. Thrust in thy sickle!-England's toil-worn peasants Thy call abide; And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, Shall glean beside ! GONE. ANOTHER hand is beckoning us, And glows once more with Angel-steps Our young and gentle friend whose smile Amid the frosts of autumn time No paling of the cheek of bloom The light of her young life went down, The glory of a setting star Clear, suddenly, and still. As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed And like the brook's low song, her voice- And half we deemed she needed not The blessing of her quiet life And good thoughts, where her footsteps pressed Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds We read her face, as one who reads The measure of a blessed hymn, To which our hearts could move The breathing of an inward psalm ; A canticle of love. We miss her in the place of prayer, There seems a shadow on the day, Alone unto our Father's will One thought hath reconciled; That He whose love exceedeth ours THE LAKE-SIDE. Fold her, oh Father! in thine arms, Our human hearts and Thee. Still let her mild rebuking stand And grant that she who, trembling, here THE LAKE-SIDE. THE shadows round the inland sea Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, Along the sky, in wavy lines, O'er isle and reach and bay, So seemed it when yon hill's red crown, 79 |