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There is no Death! What seems so is trans
ition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead,—the child of our affection
But gone unto that school
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Not as a child shall we again behold her,
For when with raptures wild
She will not be a child ;
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
THE OPEN WINDOW.
The old house by the lindens *
Stood silent in the shade,
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air !
They were no longer there.
* Lime trees.
The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall ; But shadow, and silence, and sadness,
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone; But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone !
And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
The forms that once have been.
The Past and Present here unite
Beneath Time's flowing tide, Like footprints hidden by a brook,
But seen on either side.
Here runs the highway to the town ;
There the green lane descends, Through which I walked to church with thee,
Oh, gentlest of my friends!
The shadow of the linden-trees
Lay moving on the grass ;
A shadow, thou didst pass.
Thy dress was like the lilies,
And thy heart as pure as they ; One of God's holy messengers
Did walk with me that day.
I saw the branches of the trees
Bend down thy touch to meet, The clover-blossoms in the grass
Rise up to kiss thy feet.
“Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,
Of earth and folly born !” Solemnly sang the village choir .
On that sweet Sabbath morn.
· Through the closed blinds the golden sun
Poured in a dusty beam, Like the celestial ladder seen
By Jacob in his dream.
And ever and anon, the wind,
Sweet scented with the hay, Turned o’er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves, That on the window lay.
* * *
Thou art no longer here;
With thee did disappear.
Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart,
Like pine-trees dark and high, Subdue the light of noon, and breathe * A low and ceaseless sigh;