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“ Come and fear not!” it softly cried; “We wait to lead thee to thy home:" Then leapt my spirit to reply,
“I come! I long to come!”.
That endless life was nigh.
Of triumph o'er their head.
At will through boundless space.
A holy pæan sang.
They sit around the hearth,
Among them as they mourn !
Footsteps of the Angels.
And the voices of the Night
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted, · And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful fire-light,
Dance upon the parlour wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherish'd
Noble longings for the strife,
Weary with the march of life!
Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more ; And with them the being beauteous
Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep,
Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine; And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Utter'd not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer; Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
O, though oft depress'd and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
Are not the tones I hear;
Then meet my longing ear.
Those were the words she sung;
As once on earth they rung;
Come round me like a cloud,
Their singing sounds aloud.
Those voices poorly ring;
Those upper spirits sing.
The calm and glorified,
On heaven's sweet floating tide.
Their souls and hearts keep time In one sweet concert with the Lord
One concert vast, sublime.
Sometimes a sweetness falls
And softly homeward calls.
Borne trembling o'er the sea-
The shores where we shall be.
Sing cares and griefs to rest;
Mrs. H. B. STOWE.
No line of all thy loveliness shall fall
Into the solemn gulf that covers all.
Sink with its violets closer to thy breast;
The head-stone crumble from thy place of rest.
And seek thy place in nature as a child
Wanders and cries along some dreary wild.
The messages of purer life, and know The footsteps of thy spirit lingering near
The darkness hides the way that I should go. Canst thou not bid the empty realms restore
That form, the symbol of thy heavenly part ? Or in the fields of barren silence pour
That voice, the perfect music of thy heart? Oh, once ! once bending to these widow'd lips
Take back the tender warmth of life from me; Oh, let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse The light of mine, and give me death with thee !
Days gone by.
When the night is still and deep,
Mutters in its charmed sleep,
That have thrilld me long ago
Lying deep beneath the snow.
O, the garden I remember,
In the gay and sunny spring,
And the arching alleys ring!
O the soft and tender tone !
Save to one fond ear alone!
In those bright and bounteous eyes !
Tell-tale of the heart's surprise !
Field and forest, land and sea,
And the earth was new to me!
Wither'd, broken, branch and stem;
Scatter'd to the winds with them.
Nursed in hope and rear'd in love,
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
When the spirit leaves this sphere, Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her
To those she long hath mourn'd for here? Hearts, from which 'twas death to sever,
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, There, as warm, as bright as ever,
Shall meet us and be lost no more. Oh! if no other boon were given,
To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, Who would not try to win a Heaven
Where all we love shall live again ? MOORE.