class="c6">He seeks the dear paternal hearth,
To die by his fond parent's side;
To him the dearest friends on earth,
Who with a smile each tear would hide.

A few short weeks he lingered there,
While heav'nly peace reigned in his breast;
He cries, my friends, oh now prepare
To meet where sorrows ne'er molest.

Though earthly friends are dear to me,
I feel them twining round my heart,
A friend in heaven, by faith, I see,
Who bids my joyful soul depart.

Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears;
Bid ev'ry murm'ring thought be still;
My mind is free from doubts and fears,—
I sink into my Savior's will.

With smiles of vict'ry on his brow,
And heav'nly transport in his breast,
Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe,
And like an infant sinks to rest.

Down through the portals of the sky
Descend a glorious shining band.
Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's right hand.

Nor does the monster yet relent,—
Four blooming victims he has slain,
Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.

And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom?
Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the tomb.

See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she must go.

With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,
The precious jewel which he gave.

But when the trump of God shall sound,
To call each sainted sleeper home,
Should they, with ev'ry child, surround
The mighty conq'ror of the tomb—

They'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just,
Behold is and our children here!
Thou didst in love give them to us,
And we resigned them to thy care.

Now we will chant Redemption's sung,
Which Gabriel never learned to sing,
Nor one of all th' angelic throng,—
To Jesus, prophet, priest and king.

THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.^[2]

No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers,
Could be more sweet than these dear flowers
To each surviving friend;
They'll water them with falling tears,
And nurse them through succeeding years,
And from each ill defend.

Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,—
My daughters planted you and died,—
You are most dear to me;
Each now in smiling beauty stands,
Where placed by these fair youthful hands,—
Sweet rose and lilac tree.

Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,—
I love to see you flourish there,
And in bright beauty bloom;
Each tiny leaf I hold most dear,
Although you oft call forth a tear
For loved ones in the tomb.

Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may;
Your fading leaves will soon portray
The lovely, fragile form,
Which passed from earth while skies seemed fair,
Like vapors quiv'ring in the air,
Before a coming storm.

I gaze upon these opening flowers—
They bring a dream of blissful hours,
When brighter germs were mine;
Once on my throbbing bosom lay
Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they,
Fraught with immortal minds.

'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade—
Fair emblems of the youthful dead,
But spring restores their bloom.
Just so the saints that droop and die,
When Gabriel's trump shall rend the sky,
Will leave the mould'ring tomb.

They'll leave this dull, this earthly sod,
And, in the garden of our God,
Bloom with celestial grace,
Where frost and mildew ne'er can blight;
There, all enraptured with delight,
God's wondrous works they'll trace.

FOOTNOTES:

[2]