Among the ever-fragrant flowers
That deck the spirit's home,
Rememberest thou the mourning friend,

Who nightly weeps for thee?

And wilt thou pluck a thornless rose, And keep it safe for me?

BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS,

THE ONLY CHILDREN OF THEIR PARENTS.

THEY'RE here, in this turf-bed-those tender forms, So kindly cherish'd, and so fondly loved,

They're here.

Sweet sisters! pleasant in their lives

And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet

That blooming ones should linger here and learn How quick the transit to the silent tomb.

I do remember them, their pleasant brows

So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance
Of their mild eyes, when, in the house of God,
They gathered up the manna, that distill'd,
Like dew, around.

The eldest, parted first,
And it was touching even to tears, to see
The perfect meekness of that child-like soul,
Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God,
And loosening every link of earthly hope,
To gird an angel's glorious garments on.
The younger lingered yet a little while,

BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS.

Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve
Of that lone spirit clasped its parent-prop:
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced

The Rock of Ages-while the Saviour's voice
Confirmed its trust: "Suffer the little ones

To come to me."

And then her sister's couch

Undrew its narrow covering-and those forms,
Which side by side, on the same cradle-bed,
So oft had shared the sleep of infancy,

Were laid on that clay pillow, cheek to cheek
And hand to hand, until that morning break,
Which hath no night.

And ye are left alone,

Who nurtured those fair buds, and often said
Unto each other, in the hour of care,

"These same shall comfort us for all our toil."

Your treasures to his keeping: He hath power
To bear you onward to that better land,

Where none are written childless, and torn hearts
Blend in a full eternity of bliss.

10

111

AUTUMN.

Has it come, the time to fade?
And with a murmur'd sigh,
The Maple, in his scarlet robe,
Was the first to make reply;
And the queenly Dahlias droop'd
Upon their thrones of state,
The frost-king, with his baleful kiss,
Had well forestall'd their fate.

Hydrangia, on her telegraph

A hurried signal trac'd

Of dire and dark conspiracy

That Summer's realm menac'd;

Then quick the proud exotic peers,

In consternation fled,

And refuge in their green-house sought

Before the day of dread.

The vine that o'er my casement climb'd

And cluster'd day by day,

I count its leaflets every morn,
See, how they fade away;

And, as they withering one by one
Forsake their parent tree,

I call each sere and yellow leaf,
A buried friend to me.

Put on thy mourning, said my soul,
And with a tearful eye,

Walk softly 'mid the many graves,
Where thy companions lie.

The violet, like a loving babe,

When vernal suns were new,

That met thee with a soft, blue eye,
And lips all bath'd in dew,

The lily, as a timid bride,

While summer suns were fair,
That put her snowy hand in thine,
To bless thee for thy care,

The trim and proud anemone,
The daisy from the vale,
The purple lilac towering high

To guard his sister pale,

The ripen'd rose, where are they now?

But from the rifled bower