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Julia Mills Dunn.
My friend in the spirit land,
Into that unknown land,
Full of such duties as God's angels know!
Thou servedst day and night, we thought, below. O faithful heart, that recked not care or pain
When Duty called thee, or when Love did lead, Thou gavest freely, asking not again,
The word of comfort or the costly deed. O gentle hands, so busy evermore
With healing touch or helpful tenderness ! 'Twas yours to lift the burdens others bore,
Your sole reward the joy of usefulness. O tireless feet, still walking till the last
Your patient round, as noiseless as the sun ! Your toilsome journey now is overpast,
Your years of pilgrimage at length are done. We know not how to say the word “Good bye.”
We know not how to leave thee at the gate That opens for thee toward that city high
Where other hands with loving welcome wait. We long shall miss thee as we go our ways.
The home will miss thee from its broken band. Full many a tear will tell thy sober praise,
And all good works will miss thy helping hand. And yet, Good bye! good byel thou faithful soul!
From toil and trouble thou hast earned release. Thy weary feet are resting at the goal,
The pain of living ended in God's peace.
Child with the Snowy Cheek.
Thy white-robed form and look so meek
Death's mystery hath cast
But the angel marred not as he passed
He but folded the waxen hands, Sent sleep on the gladsome eyes,
And wrapped thee round with the viewless band Of death's great, still surprise.
Now into the upper life, Into realms of infinite peace,
Thou hast entered at once, untouched by the str That comes with our life's increase.
Into the infinite love, Into the cloudless light,
Into the welcome that waited above, Below thee, the storm and night.
Saved from the toilsome way We travel with weary feet,
From the bitterness hid in the cup alway, Whose first taste is so sweet.
The base and the unkind, The cruel and the untrue,
Soiling and stain of the deathless mind, Fair child, are not for you.
you there is gladness and rest Where the white-robed singers stand,
Where pain is forgotten and sorrow is blest, In the soul's own fatherland;
Where the little ones of earth, In gardens and meadows broad,
Wandering and playing, make musical mirth By the soft-flowing river of God.
But we! In a world of pain, We linger and weep and wait;
And we strive in vain any glimpse to gain Of thee and the Beautiful Gate.
For the gate that is gold to thee, Golden and jewelled and bright,
Is wrapped in a gloom on the side we see, Its sentinels, Fear and Night.
But the gate of gloom and of gold Will open to us some day,
On hinges of silence backward rolled ; And Fear will vanish away.
And Night into Morning will change, As the light of the Land comes out,
And a rapture, sudden and sweet and strange, Succeed to our trouble and doubt.
Oh, blessed and strong and sweet The hope of that coming time,
When thy welcoming hands our hands shall meet In the gate of the Life Sublime;
In the gate of the City of God; In the gate of the Infinite Peace;
In the sweet dawn-light that shall shine abroad O'er the fields of our love's increase.
Twilight falls: a tiny maiden Cometh up the village street;
Vagrant locks, all dewy-laden, Eager eyes and tired feet
Hath the shadowy little maiden.
Tired of wandering and of playing, Up the dim street see her come:
Hurrying now, and now delaying, Toward the rest and love of home,
Comes the maiden from her playing.
Seel again! a woman hasting Down a shadowy, sunset way,
Loving, anxious glances casting Through the twilight soft and gray;
Homeward, loveward she is hasting.