There Is No Death

They have but dropped their robe of clay
To put their shining raiment on;
They have not wandered far away—
They are not "lost" or "gone."

Though disenthralled and glorified,

They still are here and love us yet; The dear ones they have left behind, They never can forget.

And sometimes, when our hearts grow faint
Amid temptations fierce and deep,
Or when the wildly raging waves

Of grief or passion sweep,

We feel upon our fevered brow

Their gentle touch, their breath of balm;

Their arms enfold us, and our hearts

Grow comforted and calm.

And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear, immortal spirits tread;

For all the boundless universe
Is life-there are no dead,

BLESSED ARE THEY THAT

O

MOURN

William Cullen Bryant

DEEM not they are blest alone

Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny-
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart
And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day,
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.

T

What of That?

WHAT OF THAT?

Anonymous.

IRED! Well, what of that?

Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze?

Come, rouse thee! work while it is called to-day! Coward, arise! go forth upon thy way!

Lonely! And what of that?

Some must be lonely! 'tis not given to all
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall,
To blend another life into its own.
Work may be done in loneliness. Work on.

Dark! Well, and what of that?

Didst fondly dream the sun would never set?
Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet!
Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight;
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right.

Hard! Well, what of that?

Didst fancy life one summer holiday,

With lessons none to learn, and nought but play?
Go, get thee to thy task! Conquer or die!
It must be learned! Learn it then patiently.

No help! Nay, it's not so!

Though human help be far, thy God is nigh,
Who feeds the ravens, hears His children's cry.
He's near thee, wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam,
And He will guide thee, light thee, help thee, home.

LOSS AND GAIN

W

Nora Perry

HEN the baby died, we said,
With a sudden, secret dread:
"Death, be merciful, and pass;—
Leave the other!"-but alas!

While we watched he waited there,
One foot on the golden stair,
One hand beckoning at the gate,
Till the home was desolate.

Friends say, "It is better so,
Clothed in innocence to go";
Say, to ease the parting pain,
That "your loss is but their gain."

Ah, the parents think of this!
But remember more the kiss
From the little rose-red lips;
And the print of finger tips

Left upon the broken toy,
Will remind them how the boy
And his sister charmed the days
With their pretty, winsome ways.

Only time can give relief
To the weary, lonesome grief:
God's sweet minister of pain
Then shall sing of loss and gain.

I

My Child

MY CHILD

John Pierpont

CANNOT make him dead!

His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet when my eyes now dim

With tears, I turn to him,

The vision vanishes-he is not there.

I know his face is hid

Under the coffin lid;

Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair; My hand that marble felt;

O'er it in prayer I knelt;

Yet my heart whispers that—he is not there.

He lives! In all the past
He lives; nor, to the last,
Of seeing him again will I despair;
In dreams I see him now;

And on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!"

Yes, we all live to God!

Father, thy chastening rod,

So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,
That, in the spirit land,

Meeting at thy right hand,

"Twill be our heaven to find that he is there!