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For that thy heart had now been taught
Christ's hardest lesson, and no more

Should ache as it hath ached of

yore:

And 'twas a dear delight to me To hope that, as Life's daylight wore, Thy sky grew clear, and I should see Thy sun, without a cloud, go down rejoicingly.

III.

I hoped for years serene and calm,
Still calmer as their close drew nigh;
In which thy soul should breathe the balm
Of Heaven's profoundest peace, while I,
Sharing that deep tranquillity,

Should dwell near thy beloved side,
And learn thy wisdom pure and high,

And how thy earlier faith was tried,

And how thy soul had been through suffering sanctified.

IV.

I knew that in thy bosom dwelt
A silent grief, a hidden fear,
A sting which could be only felt

By spirits to their God most dear;

Which yet thou felt'st, from year to year,
Unsoften'd, nay embitter'd still;

And many a secret sigh and tear

Heaved thy sad heart, thine eyes did fill,

And anxious thoughts thou hadst presaging direstill.

V.

My prayers (ah! why so cold and few?)
Were that this weight might be removed;
And that thy living eyes might view
All they desired in all they loved;
But when imagination roved

Through dreams of sorrow which might be,
My dull blind heart was never moved,
Even by the thought that thou shouldst see
Of this thy bitterest fear the dread reality.

VI.

And now thou bleed'st beneath the blow-
The blow I deem'd too sharp to fall-
Ah how shall I assuage thy woe?
What flow'rets scatter o'er the pall
Of earthly Hope's sad funeral?
Alas! I cannot rend the sky,

Nor streams of light celestial call

To burst the gloom which clouds the eye E'en of thy faith, and wraps Heaven's self in

mystery.

VII.

I cannot—nor, alas! canst thou,
Although no dearer child hath He
Who grieves thy saintly spirit now
With this most dread severity;
Nor suffers thee as yet to see

Deliverance from heart-crushing woes;

Yet mayst thou to His bosom flee,
To Him thy secret soul disclose,

And in his long-tried love thy perfect trust repose.

VIII.

Thou dost-ah! well I know thou dost

I know thy heart was all in heaven, To earth and earth's delusions lost, To God and Christ completely given, Ere yet by this last stroke 'twas riven: Long hast thou dwelt with us on earth, A spirit purged from earthly leaven, Still sharing all our grief and mirth, Half angel though thou art, God's child by second birth.

IX.

Thy pangs, which now pierce soul and sense,
No child of this world ere hath known;
And shall these earn no recompense
From Him whom they proclaim thine own,
The heir of Heaven's eternal throne?
Oh think not he can aught decree
Not breathing tenderest love alone

And final bliss to thine and thee

Aught that could mar in Heaven thy full felicity.

X.

In Heaven?-and must I think of Earth?
Ah! dearest friend-thy fading brow-
Thy failing strength-this new-sent dearth
Of hope, which makes thy firm heart bow?
Have I no cause to tremble now?

And yet-shame on my selfish fearsShame that such fears I should avowWhy grieve to think thy mortal years Were number'd, thy work done in this our world

of tears?

XI.

I will not-yet I must-I must;
For what, alas! were I and mine,
When we had given thee back to dust;
When all that tenderness of thine,
Thy wisdom pure, thy faith divine,
Had vanish'd from our earthly store?
When thy deep heart's exhaustless mine
Should yield us its rich gems no more,

And all our loving talk, our pleasant days be o'er?

I

XII.

may not think on griefs like these;

Yet, yet, beloved friend, remain ;

If earthly love hath power to ease
The pressure of thy grievous pain,
And cheer thy chasten'd heart again;
Still let us minister to thee,

Nor haply minister in vain,

Whate'er of tenderest aid may be,

Whate'er of comfort yet in all love's treasury.

XIII.

Stay with us till our hearts are strong;

Till we can gaze, with steadier eye,
To where, amidst the saintliest throng,
Thy spirit shall be throned on high:

Stay till we too are fit to die,

Christ's messenger to us and ours;
Teach us to share thy victory

O'er lust and sin's rebellious powers,

And lead our steps with thine to Heaven's unfading bowers.

Dec. 3, 1835.

TO MARION.

I.

THANKS, Marion, for thy sojourn brief

In this our English home;
Source as it is of present grief,

But joy for years to come;
Of grief that we must part to-day,
Of joy that thou, when far away

Beyond the ocean foam,

Wilt leave on mine and Margaret's heart
An image fair of what thou art.

II.

To her, or ere thy face we knew,
A cherish'd dream wast thou;
The tints her fancy o'er it threw
Have scarcely faded now:

But fancy's touch hath slender skill
The heart's desiring void to fill,
Or airy shapes endow

Of the unseen we pant to see,
With life and warm reality.

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