The form, so cherished once and dear,
To follow on his funeral bier;

And see the grave above it close,
The last "long home" of man's repose.
It has been said, and I believe,

Though tears of natural sorrow start,
'Tis mixed with pleasure when we grieve
For those the dearest to the heart,
From whom long-lived at length we part;
As by a Christian's feelings led

We lay them in their peaceful bed.

Yet speak I not of those who go

The allotted pilgrimage on earth,
With earth-born passions grovelling low,
Enslaved to honour, avarice, mirth,
Unconscious of a nobler birth :
But such as tread with loftier scope
The Christian's path with Christian hope.
We grieve to think, that they again

Shall ne'er in this world's pleasure share: But sweet the thought, that this world's pain No more is theirs; that this world's care It is no more their lot to bear.

And surely in this scene below
The joy is balanced by the woe!

We grieve to see the lifeless form,
The livid cheek, the sunken eye:
But sweet to think, corruption's worm
The living spirit can defy,

And claim its kindred with the sky.

Lo! where the earthen vessel lies!
Aloft the unbodied tenant flies.

We grieve to think, our eyes no more

That form, those features loved, shall trace: But sweet it is from memory's store To call each fondly-cherished grace, And fold them in the heart's embrace. No bliss 'mid worldly crowds is bred, Like musing on the sainted dead!

We grieve to see expired the race

They ran, intent on works of love:
But sweet to think, no mixture base,
Which with their better nature strove,
Shall mar their virtuous deeds above.
Sin o'er their soul has lost his hold,
And left them with their earthly mould!
We grieve to know, that we must roam
Apart from them each wonted spot:
But sweet to think, that they a home
Have gained, a fair and goodly lot,
Enduring, and that changeth not.
And who that home of freedom there
Will with this prison-house compare?

THE

BISHOP MANT.

Absalom my Son!

HE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,

Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.

The reeds bent down the stream: the willow

leaves,

With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,

Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
From far Jerusalem: and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind.
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn.
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.

They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep
tones

Grew tremulous.

But oh; for Absalom

For his estranged, misguided Absalom

The proud, bright being, who had burst away In all his princely beauty, to defy

The heart that cherished him--for him he poured,
In agony that would not be controlled,

Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.

*

*

*

*

*

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath Was straightened for the grave; and as the folds Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they swayed To the admitted air, as glossy now

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.

His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him: and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,

R

In a low tone, to his few followers,

And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe!—

66 Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill.

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee, How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'My father,' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

“The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft wind flung: But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt

come

To meet me, Absalom!

"And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!