RESIGNATION

H. W. Longfellow

HERE is no flock, however watched and

T

tended,

But one dead lamb is there.

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair.

The air is full of farewells to the dying,

And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted.

Let us be patient. These severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise,

But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;

Amid these earthly damps

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no Death. What seems so is transition;

This life of mortal breath

Is but the suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call Death.

Resignation

She is not dead,—the child of our affection,-
But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing

In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,

Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,

May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child again shall we behold her;

For when with raptures wild

In our embraces we again enfold her,

She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.

And though at times impetuous with emotion

And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,

That cannot rest,

We will be patient and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifyng, not concealing,

The grief that must have way.

There Is No Death

THERE IS NO DEATH

T

J. L. McCreery

HERE is no death, the stars go down
To rise upon some other shore,

And bright in heaven's jeweled crown
They shine forevermore.

There is no death! the forest leaves

Convert to life the viewless air;

The rocks disorganize to feed

The hungry moss they bear.

There is no death! the dust we tread

Shall change, beneath the summer showers,

To golden grain, or mellow fruit,

Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

There is no death! the leaves may fall,
The flowers may fade and pass away-
They only wait, through wintry hours,

The warm, sweet breath of May.

There is no death! the choicest gifts

That heaven hath kindly lent to earth

Are first to seek again

The country of their birth.

And all things that for growth of joy
Are worthy of our love or care,
Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.

Though life become a dreary waste,

We know its fairest, sweetest flowers, Transplanted into paradise,

Adorn immortal bowers.

The voice of bird-like melody

That we have missed and mourned so long,

Now mingles with the angel choir

In everlasting song.

There is no death! although we grieve

When beautiful, familiar forms
That we have learned to love are torn
From our embracing arms.

Although with bowed and breaking heart,
With sable garb and silent tread,
We bear their senseless dust to rest,
And say that they are "dead,"

They are not dead! They have but passed

Beyond the mists that blind us here

Into the new and larger life

Of that serener sphere.