And see! where one white blossom lies,
Nestling amidst the mosses deep,
And whispers with its starry eyes,
"God giveth His beloved sleep."
E. A. WASHBURN.

HE roamed half round this world of woe, Where toil and labour never cease; Then dropped one little span below,

In search of Peace.

And now to him mild beams and showers, All that he needs to grace his tomb, From loneliest regions, at all hours, Unsought-for come.

AUBREY De Vere

COUCH of the tranquil slumber

For the weary brow ; Rest of the faint and toiling, Take this loved one now. Turf of the shaded churchyard, Warder of the clay,

Watch the toil-worn sleeper,

Till the awaking day. Watch the well-loved sleeper, Guard that placid form, Fold around it gently,

Shield it from alarm; Clasp it kindly, fondly,

To cherish, not destroy;
Clasp it as the mother

Clasps her nestling joy.
Guard the precious treasure,
Ever faithful tomb;
Keep it all unrifled

Till the Master come.