lid church-yard daisies wave
About his new unsodded grave.

The skies are solemn with their throng
Of choiring stars--and deep and strong
The river moans an undersong.

Oh mournful wind! Oh moaning river,
Oh golden planets, pausing never!
His lips have lost your song forever!

His lips, that done with pleadings vain--
And human sighing, born of pain--
Are hymning heav'ns triumphal strain.

The ages tragic Rhythm of change
Clashing on projects new and strange--
The tireless nations forward range--

Can ne'er disturb the perfect rest
Wherein he lieth--being blest,
With chill hands cross'd on silent breast.

Oh mourning heart! whose heavy plaint
Drifts down the deathly shadows faint,
Why weep ye for this risen saint?

His life's pale ashes, under foot
That cling about the daisies' root
Will bear at last most glorious fruit!

'Tis but the casket hid away
Neath roof of stone and burial clay;
The jewel shines in endless day!

And thus I gather for my tears
Sweet hope from faith in after years;
And far across the glimmering spheres

Height over height the heavens expand--
I see him in God's Eden land,
With palms of vict'ry in his hand;

O'er brows of solemn breadth profound,
With fadeless wreaths of glory wound,
He stands a seraph, robed and crowned.

Aye! in a vision, see I now;
Christ's symbol written on his brow--
Found worthy unto death art thou!

And ever in this heart of mine,
So won to glorious peace, divine
This vision of our lost shall shine;

Not with pale forehead in eclipse
With close-sealed lids and silent lips,
But grand in Life's Apocalypse!

For very truly hath been said--
For the pale living--not the dead--
Should mourning's bitterest tears be shed!

MISSIVE TO ----.

Purple shafts of sunset fire
Glory-crown the passionate sea,
Throbbing with a fierce desire
For the blue immensity.

Floods of pale and scarlet flame
Sweep the bases of the hills,
With a blushing unto shame
Thro' their rosy bridal-thrills.

Slowly to the gorgeous West
Twilight paces from the East,
Like a dark, unbidden guest
Going to a marriage feast.

Dian--palaced in the blue--
O'er the eve-star, newly born,
Shakes a sweet baptismal dew
From her pearly drinking-horn.

Not the Ocean's fiery soul
Throbbing up thro' all his deeps--
Not the sunset tides that roll
Gloriously against the steeps

Of the hills, that to the stars
Lift their regal wedded brows,
Glittering, t