Proud Science scales the skies,

From star to star to roam,

But reacheth not the Shore where lies
Thy spirit's home.

Impervious shadows hide

This mystery of Heaven;
But where all knowledge is denied,

To hope is given !

The Mourning Widow.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

THERE is a mourner, and her heart is broken:
She is a widow-she is old and poor,
Her only hope is in that sacred token

Of peaceful happiness when life is o'er;
She asks no wealth nor pleasure-begs no more
Than Heaven's delightful volume, and the sight
Of her Redeemer. Skeptics! would you pour
Your blasting vials on her head, and blight
Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her
being's night?

THE MOURNING WIDOW.

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She lives in her affections; for the grave

Has closed upon her husband, children: all Her hopes are with the arms she trusts will save Her treasured jewels; though her views are small, Though she has never mounted high, to fall And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring Of her meek, tender feelings cannot pall Her unperverted palate, but will bring

A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting.

Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave
Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er
With silent waters, kissing as they lave

The pebbles with light rippling, and the shore
Of matted grass and flowers-so softly pour

The breathings of her bosom, when she prays, Long bowed before her Maker; then no more She muses on the grief of former days;

Her full heart melts and flows in Heaven's dissolving rays.

And Faith can see a new world, and the eyes
Of saints look pity on her: Death will come-

A few short moments over, and the prize
Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb
Becomes her fondest pillow: all its gloom

Is scattered; what a meeting there will be To her and all she loved here, and the bloom

Of new life from those cheeks shall never fleeTheirs is the health which lasts through all eternity.

The Dead.

A. M. EDMOND.

THE dead! the dead! I love them still,

Though years have hurried by,
Since bending o'er the dying couch
I caught the parting sigh;
Since I bedewed the mournful pall

With fond affection's tear,

And sorrowed o'er the sleeping form

Upon the sable bier.

They came to me when darkness steals

Along the weary land,
Upon the pinions of the night,

A dim, yet beauteous band;
They fit before me one by one,
The tenants of the tomb,

And wearing all the robes of death,

But bearing not its gloom.

THE DEAD.

In midnight's solemn hour, I see
Thier shadows on the wall;
And softly on the moonlit floor
I hear their footsteps fall—
The rustling of their silver wings
Above my weary head;

And oh, 'tis sweet to sleep beneath
The watch-care of the dead!

I hear them speak, in gentle tones,
Of peace, and joy, and bliss;
The language of celestial worlds,
Oh, how unlike to this!

For mingled with the friendships there,

No sordid self is known, And on affection's sunny track,

No shade is ever thrown.

I love the places that they loved,

The hillside and the grove; Where in the quiet summer eve,

We once were wont to rove.

Who knows but what they haunt them yet,
And make them dear to me?
Chide not the fancy, hush it not,
Though strange and wild it be.

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There is a charm about the dead;
It binds me to the tomb,
And to their memories who sleep
Long years in dust and gloom.
I love the living, and I love

When youth and bloom have fled;
And 'tis affection deep and strong

I cherish for the dead.

Death the Least of all Ebils.

And I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, from henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.-REV. xiv., 13.

LORD BACON.

I HAVE often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all evils. All that which is past is as a dream; and he who hopes or depends upon time coming, dreams waking. So much of our life as we have discovered is already dead; and all those hours which we share, even from the breasts of our mother until we return to our grand-mother, the earth, are part of our dying days; whereof even this is one, and those that succeed are of the same nature, for we die daily; and as others have given place to us, so we must in the end give way to others.