"Tis hard, when they in death are laid O'er whom we watched, and wept, and prayed. The wife-the parent-sister-son To say, "O Lord! Thy will be done." 'Tis hard, when, in our soul's distress, And herb and quickening stream are none, And yet, how light such sorrows be LUCY. WORDSWORTH. SHE dwelt in the untrodden ways, A maid whom there were few to praise, And A violet by a mossy stone, Clear as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But now she's in her grave, and Oh! The difference to me. ELLEN. LYTE. 3 SHE sleeps beneath her native earth, She rests beneath her native earth; Yet long her gentle ways shall dwell ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. ΑΝΟΝ. WHY should I tell how pure, how bright, To weave poor chaplets round thy tomb? We were but two, the rest were gone, And our young hearts so close were twisted As if, deserted and alone, We only on this orb existed. Like two young plants in joy we grew, Was seen at once with joy to brighten; Begged half the load, my grief to lighten. They found her; on her wan white arm They raised her; she had fallen asleep! Had fallen asleep, to wake in heaven. And so they closed that clear blue eye, Which seemed to smile on friends around her; As if, while mounting to the sky, Her God e'en now with joy had crowned her. And then they took the unconscious dead; They brought it o'er the briny wave; And I a weeping child was led To sorrow o'er my sister's grave. But now long years have flitted by; Her spirit feels no blight or gloom: TRANSLATION OF AN EVENING HYMN OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS. THE loved hour of repose is striking; let us come to the sunset tree: let us lie down in the pleasant shade. Ah! how sweet is rest after labour! How I pity those who lie all day long on the couch of down, and are fatigued with doing nothing: they know not the sweetness of rest like ours! Sweet is this hour of repose, and sweet is the repose of the Sabbath-day; but sweeter will be the repose of that long Sabbath when we shall all rest from our labours in the presence of our heavenly Father. There will be no sun to burn us, there will be no toil--no pain -no poverty-no sorrow--no sin--but sweet and long will be our rest in Heaven. A RECEIPT FOR HAPPINESS. ANON. TRAVERSE the world, go fly from pole to pole, To certain death, through different paths we run; |