Unmantled and alone,

On thy blest mercy thrown,
O Infinite!

So from his harvest home

Must the tired peasant come;
So, in one trust,

Leader and king must yield
The naked soul, revealed
To thee, All Just!

The sword of many a fight,--
What then shall be its might?
The lofty lay

That rushed on eagle wing,
What shall its memory bring?
What hope, what stay?

O Father! in that hour,

When earth all succoring power
Shall disavow,—

When spear, and shield, and crown
In faintness are cast down,

Sustain us, Thou!

By Him who bowed to take
The death-cup for our sake,
The thorn, the rod,-

From whom the last dismay
Was not to pass away,

Aid us, O God!

THE ANGEL BY THE TOMB.

327

Tremblers beside the grave,

We call on thee to save,
Father divine!

Hear, hear our suppliant breath,
Keep us, in life and death,
Thine, only thine!

THE ANGEL BY THE TOMB.

SARAH F. ADAMS.

THE mourners came at break of day
Unto the garden sepulchre,

With darkened hearts, to weep and pray
For Him, the loved one buried there.
What radiant light dispels the gloom?
An angel sits beside the tomb.

The Earth doth mourn her treasures lost,
All sepulchred beneath the snow,
When wintry winds and chilling frost
Have laid her summer glories low:

The spring returns, the flowerets bloom,—
An angel sits beside the tomb.

Then mourn we not beloved dead;

E'en while we come to weep and pray,

The happy spirit far hath fled,
To brighter realms of endless day:
Immortal Hope dispels the gloom!
An angel sits beside the tomb.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

MRS. CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

TREAD Softly! bow the head,-
In reverent silence bow!
No passing-bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul
Is passing now.

Stranger! however great,

With lowly reverence bow; There's one in that poor shed, One by that paltry bed,

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;

Enter, no crowds attend;

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

That pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound, -
An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed, — again
That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting groan!

O change! O wondrous change!
Burst are the prison bars!
This moment there, so low,
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars!

O change! stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod:

The sun eternal breaks,
The new immortal wakes,
Wakes with his God.

28*

329

THE PRESENCE OF THE DEPARTED.

HIRAM WITHINGTON.

"Are they not all ministering spirits?"

THE sainted dead! think you they linger not, Nor e'er to this lone world return again? Say, do they not revisit each loved spot.

Whose sight doth waken such a thrilling strain

Within our longing hearts? O, not in vain They came and went! nor severed are those ties

That bound them to this life of joy and pain: They come, they come,-and bid our spirits

rise,

And dwell in peace with them, beneath the heavenly skies!

They are about us; as when Israel's flight
God's spirit guided through the desert's sand,
In cloud by day and fiery lamp by night,
And led in safety to the promised land,—
So round our path these guardian spirits
stand,

To shield us 'mid temptation's fiery heat;

In sorrow's night to take us by the hand, And lead us gently to that mercy-seat Whence comes celestial light to guide our wandering feet.