The Oil of Joy........

Where! Where art thou gone?.........

The Mournful Mother of the Dead Blind........... 114

.... 111

... 112

LIGHT

ON

LITTLE GRAVES.

HOW PEACEFULLY!

How peacefully they rest,
Cross-folded there

Upon his little breast,

Those tiny hands that ne'er were still before,
But ever sported with its mother's hair,
Or the bright gem that on her breast she wore !

Her heart no more will beat,

To feel the touch of that soft palm,

That ever seemed a new surprise,
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes,
To bless him with their holy calm;
Sweet thoughts, that left her eyes as sweet!

How quiet are the hands

That wore those pleasant bands!

But that they do not rise and sink
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep.
Alas! too deep-too deep,

Is this his slumber!

Time scarce can number

The years ere he will wake again—
Oh! may we see his eyelids open then!

He did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, And listening to their fairy chime.

His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore,
While yet 'twas early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more.
No jarring did he feel,
No grating on his vessel's keel.
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land,

Where he was seen no more!

Oh! stern word-nevermore !

THE ONE BUD.

15

LIFE THROUGH DEATH.

A DEWDROP falling on the wild sea wave,
Exclaimed in fear-" I perish in this
grave;"
But in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of wondrous beauty grew;
And, happy now, the grace did magnify
Which thrust it forth-as it had feared, to die ;-
Until again, "I perish quite," it said,
Torn by rude divers from its ocean bed:
O unbelieving !—so it came to gleam
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.

THE ONE BUD.

ONE little bud adorned my bower,
And shed sweet fragrance round ;
It grew in beauty, hour by hour,
Till, ah! the spoiler came in power,
And crushed it to the ground.

Yet not for ever in the dust,

That beauteous bud shall lie,

No!-in the garden of the just,
Beneath God's glorious eye, I trust
"Twill bloom again on high.