E. P. K.

"And the laughter of the young and gay
Was far too glad and loud."

Hush, hush! my thoughts are resting on a changeless world of bliss;
Oh! come not with the voice of mirth to lure them back to this.
'Tis true, we've much of sadness in our weary sojourn here,
That fades, and leaves no deeper trace than childhood's reckless tear;
But there are woes which scathe the heart till all its bloom is o'er,
A deadly blight we feel but once, _that once for evermore_.

Oh, then, 'tis sweet on fancy's wing to cleave that bright domain!
The loved and the redeemed are there, why lure me back again?
The cadences of gladness to your hearts may yet be dear;
They have no melody for mine, all, all is desert here.
The sunshine still is bright to you, the moonlight and the flowers;
To me they tell a harrowing tale of dear departed hours.

I would not cull Hope's blossoms now, they seem of deadly bloom;
And can I love the sunshine, when it smiles upon the tomb?
When on one little hallowed spot its joyous beams are thrown,
That sacred turf--the all of earth--I now may call my own.
For there my joys are sepulchred, my hopes are buried there;
Yet with that holy earth are linked high thoughts that mock despair;
Unfaltering faith, that whispers of a purer world than this,
Where spirits that are parted here may "mingle into bliss;"
"Deep _trust_" that all our sinless hopes, which death forbids to bloom,
Shall ripen 'neath the cloudless sky that dawns beyond the tomb;
_Conviction_ firm that things of time were never yet designed
To quench the vast and deathless thirst of an immortal mind.

Then hush! my thoughts are resting on a changeless world of bliss;
There is no voice of gladness now can lure them back to this.
I look to Thee, Redeemer! Oh! be every crime forgiven,
And take the weary captive to Thy paradise in Heaven;
Or teach my heart resignedly to say, "Thy will be done,"
And calmly wait thy summons home, thou just and holy One!
Thou mayst have spoiled my cherished schemes, to let my spirit see
That happiness is only found, great God, in serving Thee.

1828. E. P. K.

CONSOLATION IN BEREAVEMENT.

'Tis not when we look on the dreamless dead,
And feel that the spirit forever has fled;
'Tis not when we're called to the voiceless tomb
By the loved who were culled i