Shall be rejoined again; that we shall meet,
And have the seal of immortality

Set to our love by God's own sovereign hand,
Who thus shall weave these golden, earthly threads
Into the garments that we wear above.

"Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as a hand breadth, and mine age is as nothing before thee.”— - PSALM xxxix.

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave whither thou goest."- ECCLESIASTES ix.

CONSOLATION.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

ALL are not taken; there are left behind
Living beloveds, tender looks to bring,
And make the daylight still a blessed thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind;
But if it were not so, -if I could find

No love in all the world to answer me,
Nor any pathway but rang hollowly,

Where "dust to dust" the love from life disjoined, -
And if with parchéd lips, as in a dearth
Of water springs the very deserts claim,
I uttered to those sepulchres unmoving
The bitter cry, "Where are ye, O my loving?"
I know a voice would sound, Daughter, I AM!
Can I suffice for HEAVEN, and not for earth?

CONSOLATORY EPISTLE.

ST. BASIL.

IT is the command of God not to lament the dead, in the faith of Christ, because of the hope of the resurrection, and that there are great crowns laid up for great patience. If we suffer reason to sing these things in our ears, we may find some moderate end of this evil; and therefore I exhort thee, as a generous combatant, to fortify thyself against the heaviness of this stroke, and not lie down under the weight of sorrow. Being persuaded, that though the reason of God's dispensations are out of our reach, yet we ought entirely to accept that which is ordered. by one so wise and loving, although it be heavy and grievous to be borne; for he knows how to appoint to every one what is profitable, and why he hath set unequal terms to our life. The cause is incomprehensible by us, why some are carried away sooner, and others tarry longer in this toilsome and miserable life; so that we ought, in all things, to adore his loving kindness, and not to take any thing ill at his hands, remembering the great and famous voice of Job, who, when he heard that his ten children were all struck dead in one moment, said, "The Lord gave, the Lord hath taken away as it pleased the Lord, so it is come to pass." Let us make this admirable language our

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THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD.

own. They are rewarded, with an equal recompense, by the just Judge, who perform the same worthy actions. We are not robbed of a friend, but only have restored him to the Lender; nor is his life extinct, but only translated to a better. The earth doth not cover our beloved, but heaven hath received him: let us tarry a while, and we shall be in his company.

"But the salvation of the righteous is of the Lord: he is their strength in the time of trouble. And the Lord shall help them; he shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in him."PSALM XXXvii.

THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD.

MARY E. LEE.

"O LA vita! O la morte!

Belle e dolce morir, fee certo allora,
Che amante in vita, amato in morte."

TASSO.

THE dead! the much-loved dead!
Who doth not yearn to know
The secret of their dwelling-place,
And to what land they go?

What heart but asks, with ceaseless tone,
For some sure knowledge of its own?

We cannot blot them out

From memory's written page;

We cannot count them strangers; but,

As birds in prison cage,

We beat against the iron bar

That keeps us from these friends afar.

Oblivion may not hang

Its curtain o'er their grave;
There is no water we can sip,
Like Lethe's lulling wave.
But fond affection's moaning wail
Breaks from us like the autumn gale.

Grief cannot win them back;
And yet, with frequent tear,
We question of their hidden lot,
And list, with throbbing ear,
For some low answer that may roll
Through the hushed temple of the soul.

We love them - love them yet!
But is our love returned?

Is memory's hearth now cold and dark
Where once the heart-fire burned?
Nor do the laborers now gone home
Look for the weary ones to come?

We wrong them by the thought.
Affections cannot die :

Man is still man, where'er he goes -
And O, how strong the tie

Which links us, as with fetters fast,
Unto the future and the past!

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THE MUCH-LOVED DEAD.

Death would be dark indeed,

If, with this mortal shroud,
We threw off all the sympathies
That in our being crowd,
And entered on the spirit land
A stranger, 'mid a stranger band.

Far pleasanter to think

That each familiar face
Now gazes on us, as of old,

From its mysterious place,

With love that neither death nor change
Hath power to sever or estrange.

O, who will dare to say,

"This is an idle dream"?

Who, that hath given one captive dove

To soar by its own stream,

But fancies that its breathings low
Float round them wheresoe'er they go?

Mother! couldst thou endure

To think thyself forgot

By her, who was thy life, thy air,
The sunbeam of thy lot?

Wouldst thou not live in doubt and fear,
If all thy bright hopes perished here?

And brother! sister! child!

Ye all have loved the light

Of many a dearly-cherished one,
Now taken from your sight;