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In silence wert thou left; Come to thy sisters ! joyously again All the home-voices, blent in one sweet strain,
Shall greet their long bereft.
Over thine orphan head The storm hath swept, as o'er a willow's bough; Come to thy Father! it is finished now;
Thy tears have all been shed.
In thy divine abode, Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace, And—oh! bright victory_death bylove no place: Come, spirit, to thy God!
HE WALKED WITH GOD.
Genesis v. 24.
He walked with God, in holy joy,
While yet his days were few;
To love and reverence grew.
The ancient hills he trode,
Alike he walked with God.
The graver noon of manhood came,
The full of cares and fears ;
It heard through childhood's years. Amidst fair tents, and flocks, and swains,
O’er his green pasture-sod,
The patriarch walked with God.
And calmly, brightly, that pure life
Melted from earth away;
No sorrowful decay;
Unto the spoiler's rod,
Where angels walk with God!
So let us walk !--the night must come
To us that comes to all ; We through the darkness must go home,
Hearing the trumpet's call. Closed is the path for evermore
Which without death he trod; Not so that way, wherein of yore His footsteps walked with God!
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured
shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of and
in vain ! Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the depths have more !—What wealth
untold, Far down, and shining thro' their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal Argosies ! Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !
Earth claims not these again.
Yet more, the depths have more !—Thy waves
have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o’ergrown the halls of revelry— Dash o’er them, ocean! in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.
Yet more ! the billows and the depths have
more !High hearts and brave are gathered to thy
breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle-thunders will not break their rest. Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave !
Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so
long! The prayer went up through midnight's breath
less gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown
But all is not thine own.
To thee the love of woman hath gone down, Dark flow thy tides o’er manhood's noble
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery
crown ; Yet must thou hear a voice, Restore the
dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee ! Restore the dead, thou sea !
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled ;
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm ;
A proud, though childlike form.
* Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the Battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.