THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 189 THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. FORGET them not:-though now their name Though by the hearth its utterance claim Though for their sake this earth no more And shadows, never mark'd before, And though their image dim the sky, Nor, where their love and life went by, 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 alter'd tone Oh! 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 commune with the holy dead In each lone hour! The holy dead!-oh! bless'd we are, That we may call them so, Bless'd, that the things they loved on earth, That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth, Bless'd, that a deep and chastening power If but to bird, or song, or flower, HE WALK'D WITH GOD.' (Genesis v. 24.) He walk'd with God, in holy joy, To love and reverence grew. "These two little pieces," ("He walk'd with God,' and 'The Rod of Aaron,') says the author in one of her letters, "are part of a collection I think of forming, to be called Sacred Lyrics. They are all to be on Scriptural subjects, and to go through the most striking events of the Old Testament, to those far more deeply affecting ones of the New." The two following are subjoined, as having been (probably) intended to form a part of the same series. HE WALK'D WITH GOD. Whether, each nightly star to count, The ancient hills he trode, Or sought the flowers by stream and fount- The graver noon of manhood came, One voice was in his heart-the same A shepherd king on eastern plains- And calmly, brightly, that pure life No cloud it knew, no parting strife, He bow'd him not, like all beside, So let us walk!-the night must come We through the darkness must go home, 191 THE ROD OF AARON. (Numbers xvii. 8.) WAS it the sigh of the southern gale Was it the sunshine that woke its flowers Oh, far and deep, and through hidden bowers, No! from the breeze and the living light Shut was the sapless rod; But it felt in the stillness a secret might, E'en so may that breath, like the vernal air, And all such things as are good and fair, THE VOICE OF GOD. 'I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid.”— Gen. iii. 10. AMIDST the thrilling leaves, thy voice At evening's fall drew near; Father! and did not man rejoice That blessed sound to hear? THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. Did not his heart within him burn, Therefore, 'midst holy stream and bower, To veil his conscious head. Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow, Grant me, my God, thy voice to know, 193 THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. "And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter. 66 And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink? "And he cried unto the Lord, and the Lord showed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet.” – Exodus, xv. 23-25. WHERE is the tree the prophet threw Into the bitter wave? Left it no scion where it grew, The thirsting soul to save? Hath nature lost the hidden power Is there no distant eastern bower |