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 conimon Nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman 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 The good die not! God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He hath given; They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in his heaven. And she is with thee; in thy path of trial Still with the baptism of thy self-denial 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 No shadow from the Silent Land 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 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 May welcome to her holier home 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, And, through the sunset air, looked down To him of light and shade the laws He saw these mountains in the light As, face to face, in Paradise, Man stood before the Lord. Thanks, oh, our Father! that, like him, Thy tender love I see, In radiant hill and woodland dim, For not in mockery dost Thou fill THE HILL-TOP. THE burly driver at my side, At last, our short noon-shadows hid |