warmly-beating soul with all its noble
longings, and rich aspirations, had not perished with it. When, oh when,
shall we learn that we and those we love, are immortal beings? When
shall we learn that death does not destroy, only remove them and us?

The grass had sprung up thick and green over little Arthur's grave, and
the sweet morning sunlight lay quietly upon it. One little blue violet
had opened its pretty leaves, and lay there smiling. I was about to pick
it, to keep as a little memorial of the spot and the hour, but it seemed
so full of life; so fit a companion for the precious dust beneath, I
would not shorten its existence, but left it to wither there.

My tears flowed; for little Arthur was a child I had dearly loved; but
yet I knew not why I should mourn his early death. The God who had
watched over him here, was still watching over him, and we need not fear
to trust that loving Friend. Death is not terrible in itself; it is sin
that makes it fearful. If we were pure and holy, we should be happy
here, or in another world, just where God thought best to place us; but
we are sinful, and we need pardon and redemption from sin, before we can
look calmly and fearlessly upon the grave. Jesus Christ has told us how
ready he is to forgive sin; how much he has suffered that we might be
forgiven, and to every human being, even to the youngest who reads this
page, he is saying, "Come unto me ye that are weary and heavy laden and
I will give you rest."

THE SOUL'S RETURN.

Return, my soul, unto thy rest,
From vain pursuits and maddening cares;
From lonely woes that wring thy breast,
The world's allurements, toils and snares.

Return unto thy rest, my soul,
From all the wanderings of thy thought;
From sickness unto death made whole,
Safe through a thousand perils brought.

Then to thy rest, my soul, return,
From passions every hour at strife;
Sin's works, and ways, and wages spurn,
Lay hold upon eternal life.

God is thy rest;--with heart inclined
To keep his word, that word believe;
Christ is thy rest;--with lowly mind,
His light and easy yoke receive.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog, by Anonymous

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