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I SEE THEE STILL.

I SEE THEE STILL.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

I SEE thee still :

Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night;
In dreams I meet thee as of old:
Then thy soft arms my neck infold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear.
In every scene to memory dear
I see thee still.

I see thee still

In every hallowed token round:
This little ring thy finger bound;
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded;
This silken chain by thee was braided;
These flowers, all withered now, like thee,
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me;

This book was thine here didst thou read;
This picture-ah, yes, here, indeed,

I see thee still.

I see thee still:

Here was thy summer noon's retreat ;

Here was thy favorite fireside seat;

This was thy chamber-here, each day,
I sat and watched thy sad decay ;
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie;
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die.
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold-
As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.

I see thee still :

Thou art not in the grave confined —
Death cannot chain the immortal mind;
Let earth close o'er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust.
Thee, O my sister! 'tis not thee
Beneath the coffin's lid I see;
Thou to a fairer land art gone;
There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still.

WORDS TO A MOURNING HUSBAND.

REV. ROBERT HALL.

You have learned, my dear friend, the terms on which all earthly unions are formed; the ties on earth are not perpetual, and must be dissolved; and every enjoyment but that which is spiritual, every life but that which is "hid with Christ in God," is of short duration. Nothing here is given with an ulti

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WORDS TO A MOURNING HUSBAND.

mate view to enjoyment, but for the purpose of trial, to prove us, and "to know what is in our hearts; and if we are upright before God, to do us good in the latter end." You had, no doubt, often anticipated such an event as the inevitable removal of one from the other; and I hope neither of you were wanting in making a due improvement of the solemn reflection, and laying up cordial for such an hour. Still I am well aware that the actual entrance of death into the domestic circle is unutterably solemn, and places things in a different light from what we ever saw them in before. This heavy blow is undoubtedly intended to quicken your preparation for a future world. It loudly says to you, and to all, "Be ye also ready; for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh." God grant it may be eminently sanctified by weaning you more completely from this world, and "setting your affections" more entirely and habitually "on things that are above." You will then, in the midst of that deep regret such a loss has necessarily inspired, have cause to bless God that you were afflicted.

"Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all."-PSALM XXXIV.

SHE SLEEPS THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP.

HERVEY.

SHE sleeps that still and placid sleep,
For which the weary pant in vain ;
And, where the dews of evening weep,
I may not weep again.

O, never more upon her

grave

Shall I behold the wild flower wave!

They laid her where the sun and moon
Look on her tomb with loving eye,
And I have heard the breeze of June
Sweep o'er it, like a sigh.

And the wild river's wailing song
Grow dirge-like, as it stole along.

And I have dreamed, in many dreams,
Of her who was a dream to me;
And talked to her, by summer streams,
In crowds, and on the sea,

Till in my soul she grew enshrined,

A young Egeria of the mind!

'Tis years ago and other eyes

Have flung their beauty o'er my youth;

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SHE SLEEPS THAT STILL AND PLACID SLEEP.

And I have hung on other sighs,

And sounds that seemed like truth;
And loved the music which they gave,
Like that which perished in the grave.

And I have left the cold and dead,
To mingle with the living cold;
There is a weight around my head;
My heart is growing old.

O for a refuge and a home
With thee, dead Ellen, in thy tomb!

Age sits upon my breast and brain,
My spirit fades before its time;
But they are all thine own again,
Lost partner of their prime.

And thou art dearer in thy shroud
Than all the false and living crowd.

Rise, gentle vision of the hours,

Which go like birds that come not back,
And fling thy pale and funeral flowers.
On Memory's wasted track!

O for the wings that made thee blest,
To "flee away, and be at rest."