In thoughts which answer to my own,
In words which reach my inward ear,
Like whispers from the void Unknown,

I feel thy living presence here.

The waves which lull thy body's rest,
The dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod,
Unwasted, through each change, attest
The fixed economy of God.

Shall these poor elements outlive

The mind whose kingly will they wrought? Their gross unconsciousness survive

Thy Godlike energy of thought?

THOU LIVEST, FOLLEN! not in vain
Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne

The burden of Life's cross of pain,

And the thorned crown of suffering worn.

Oh while Life's solemn mystery glooms
Around us like a dungeon's wall
Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs,
Silent the heaven which bends o'er all!.

While day by day our loved ones glide
In spectral silence, hushed and lone,

To the cold shadows which divide

The living from the dread Unknown ;

While even on the closing eye,

And on the lip which moves in vain,

The seals of that stern mystery

Their undiscovered trust retain ;

And only midst the gloom of death,

Its mournful doubts and haunting fears, Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,

Smile dimly on us through their tears;

1

"Tis something to a heart like mine
To think of thee as living yet;
To feel that such a light as thine
Could not in utter darkness set.

Less dreary seems the untried way
Since thou hast left thy footprints there,
And beams of mournful beauty play
Round the sad Angel's sable hair.

Oh!at this hour when half the sky
Is glorious with its evening light,
And fair broad fields of summer lie

Hung o'er with greenness in my sight;

While through these elm boughs wet with rain
The sunset's golden walls are seen,
With clover bloom and yellow grain
And wood-draped hill and stream between ;

I long to know if scenes like this
Are hidden from an angel's eyes;

If earth's familiar loveliness

Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies.

For sweetly here upon thee grew
The lesson which that beauty gave,
The ideal of the Pure and True
In earth and sky and gliding wave.

And it may be that all which lends

The soul an upward impulse here, With a diviner beauty blends,

And greets us in a holier sphere.

Through groves where blighting never fell

The humbler flowers of earth may twine; And simple draughts from childhood's well Blend with the angel-tasted wine.

But be the prying vision veiled,
And let the seeking lips be dumb,-
Where even seraph eyes have failed

Shall mortal blindness seek to come?

We only know that thou hast gone,
And that the same returnless tide
Which bore thee from us still glides on,
And we who mourn thee with it glide.

On all thou lookest we shall look,

And to our gaze ere long shall turn
That page of God's mysterious book
We so much wish, yet dread to learn.

With Him, before whose awful power

Thy spirit bent its trembling knee,Who, in the silent greeting flower,

And forest leaf, looked out on thee,

We leave thee, with a trust serene,

Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move,

While with thy childlike faith we lean

On Him whose dearest name is Love!

TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND.*

GOD bless ye, brothers! — in the fight

Ye're waging now, ye cannot fail,
For better is your sense of right
Than kingcraft's triple mail.

Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban

More mighty is your simplest word;
The free heart of an honest man
Than crosier or the sword.

Go let your bloated Church rehearse
The lesson it has learned so well;
It moves not with its prayer or curse
The gates of Heaven or hell.

Did Freedom die when Russel died?

Forget ye how the blood of Vane

From earth's green bosom cried?

The great hearts of your olden time

Are beating with you, full and strong;

All holy memories and sublime

And glorious round ye throng.

*It can scarcely be necessary to say that the author refers to those who are seeking the reform of political evils in Great Britain, by peaceful and Christian

means.

The bluff, bold men of Runnymede
Are with ye still in times like these ;
The shades of England's mighty dead,
Your cloud of witnesses!

The truths ye urge are borne abroad
By every wind and every tide;
The voice of Nature and of God
Speaks out upon your side.

The weapons which your hands have found Are those which Heaven itself has wrought, Light, Truth, and Love; -your battle ground The free, broad field of Thought.

No partial, selfish purpose breaks
The simple beauty of your plan,
Nor lie from throne or altar shakes
Your steady faith in man.

The languid pulse of England starts

And bounds beneath your words of power;

The beating of her million hearts

Is with you at this hour!

Oh, ye who, with undoubting eyes,

Through present cloud and gathering storm, Behold the span of Freedom's skies, And sunshine soft and warm,

Press bravely onward! - not in vain
Your generous trust in human kind;
The good which bloodshed could not gain
Your peaceful zeal shall find.

Press on

the triumph shall be won Of common rights and equal laws, The glorious dream of Harrington,

And Sidney's good old cause.