THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.

FORGET them not! though now their name

Be but a mournful sound,

Though by the hearth its utterance claim

A stillness round,

Though for their sake this earth no more As it hath been may be,

And shadows, never marked before,

Brood o'er each tree,

And though their image dim the sky,
Yet, yet, forget them not!

Nor, when their love and life went by,
Forsake the spot!

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They have a breathing influence there,
A charm not elsewhere found;

Sad,

yet it sanctifies the air,

The stream, the ground.

Then, though the wind an altered tone
Through the young foliage bear,
Though every flower of something gone
A tinge may wear,—

O, fly it not! No fruitless grief,
Thus in their presence felt,

A record links to every leaf,
There, where they dwelt.

Still trace the path which knew their tread, Still tend their garden bower,

Still commune with the holy dead,

In each lone hour.

The holy dead! - O, blest we are,
That we may call them so,

And to their image look afar,

Through all our woe!

Blest that the things they loved on earth

As relics we may hold,

That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth, By springs untold !

Blest that a deep and chastening power
Thus to our souls is given,

If but to bird, or song, or flower,
Yet all for Heaven.

THE SICKLY BABE.

MINE infant was a poor, weak thing,
No strength those little arms to fling,
His cheek was pale and very thin,
And none a smile from him could win
Save I, his mother! O my child,
How could they think my love so wild ?

I never said it, but I knew,

From the first breath my baby drew,
That I must soon my joy resign,

That he was God's, not mine, not mine!
But think you that I loved him less

Because I saw his feebleness ?

To others senseless seemed his eye;

They looked, and only thought, "He'll die ";
To me that little suffering frame

Came freighted with a spirit's claim,
Came full of blessings to my heart,
Brought thoughts I could to none impart.

The pale, pale bud bloomed not on earth;
Blighted and stricken from his birth,
A few short months upon my breast
He lay, then smiled and went to rest :
And all forgot him, born to die,

All, all forgot, save God and I.