To charm the ransomed soul. The loved

Of earth are held as dotingly; but lo! a clime
Where holiest friendship dwells, and loved ones meet
To part no more for ever! The cold grave

May wear as dark a gloom, and thought may shrink
As mournfully from the dark shivering touch
Of sad forgetfulness; but lo! a beam
Of overwhelming glory lights the tomb
With everlasting day! The sleeper wakes,
And high in realms of blessedness he finds
His name enrolled, by Heaven's eternal pen,
In the Lamb's book of life-ah! never more
To be forgotten through eternity.

Then the young Christian, though his years are few,
And the sweet morn of life unfolds to sight

The promise of a radiant day, can look

Into the dreary grave with holy joy,

And shut his eyes forever on the world,
And all his earthly hopes, with songs of peace
And blessedness ineffable.

THE GRAVE.

143

The Grabe.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

О¤, the grave, the grave! It buries every error; covers every defect; extinguishes every resentment. From this peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down even upon the grave of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb that ever he should have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him! But the grave of those we loved-what a place for meditation! There it is we call up in long review, the truth and gentleness, and a thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost unheard in the daily course of intimacy. There it is we dwell upon the tenderness of the parting scene, the bed of death, with all its stifled grief, its noiseless attendants, its mute watchful assiduities, the last testimonial of expiring love, the feeble, fluttering feeling. Oh how thrilling is the pressure of the hand; the last fond look of the glaring eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence; the faint faltering accent, struggling in death to give one more assurance of

affection. Aye, go the grave of buried love, and meditate ! There settle your account with your conscience, of past endearments unregarded of that departed being who never can return to be soothed by contrition. If thou art a child and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband,

and hast ever caused the bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast wronged by thought, by word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to the true heart that now lies cold and still beneath thy feet; then be sure that every unkind look, ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knock dolefully at thy soul; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groans, and pour the unavailing tear-bitter, because unheard and unavailing.

DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.

145

Lines

SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL LADY.

CAROLINE MAY.

So young, so fair, so well beloved, so gifted,
Yet Death has come for her,

And from our sight her gentle form has lifted—
A strong, stern messenger.

In vain we prayed with bitter tears—“Oh, linger,
Take her not yet-not yet!"

For even then the seal of his cold finger
Upon her brow was set.

And cold that brow and breast of holy whiteness
Beneath his touch became ;

And stiff those fringed lids, that veiled the brightness
Of Love's pure steady flame.

Down drooped the hands like two white lilies broken,
Unheeding the fond grasp

Of those who vainly hoped for one more token
Responsive to their clasp.

She knew Death only, heard alone his promise,
That held forth heaven to her;

So hushed and silent, she was carried from us
By God's great messenger.

And we gaze after her, with eyes too tearful
To pierce heaven's upper air;

Though sweet Faith says, with accent low, but cheerful, "Ye soon shall meet her there."