FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs;

Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts,

That finds not here an end:

Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of Time,

Beyond this vale of death,

There surely is some blessed clime,

Where life is not a breath,

Nor life's affections transient fire,

Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown;

A whole eternity of love,
Form'd for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that happier sphere.

Thus star by star declines,

Till all are pass'd away,

As morning high and higher shines

To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night,

- They hide themselves in heaven's own light.

A MOTHER'S LAMENT

ON THE DEATH OF HER INFANT DAUGHTER.

I LOVED thee, Daughter of my heart;

My Child, I loved thee dearly;

And though we only met to part,
-How sweetly! how severely!-

Nor life, nor death can sever
My soul from thine for ever.

Thy days, my little one, were few ;

An Angel's morning visit,

That came and vanish'd with the dew;

'Twas here, tis gone, where is it?

Yet didst thou leave behind thee

A clew for love to find thee.

The eye, the lip, the cheek, the brow,
The hands stretch'd forth in gladness,
All life, joy, rapture, beauty now;
Then dash'd with infant-sadness;
Till, brightening by transition,

Return'd the fairy vision:

Where are they now?

those smiles, those tears,

Thy Mother's darling treasure?

She sees them still, and still she hears

Thy tones of pain or pleasure,

To her quick pulse revealing

Unutterable feeling.

Hush'd in a moment on her breast,

Life, at the well-spring drinking;

Then cradled on her lap to rest,

In rosy slumber sinking,

Thy dreams

And mine

no thought can guess them;

no tongue express them.

For then this waking eye could see,

In many a vain vagary,

The things that never were to be,
Imaginations airy;

Fond hopes that mothers cherish,
Like still-born babes to perish.

Mine perish'd on thy early bier;
No, changed to forms more glorious,
They flourish in a higher sphere,

O'er time and death victorious;

Yet would these arms have chain'd thee, And long from heaven detain'd thee.

Sarah! my last, my youngest love,
The crown of every other!

Though thou art born in heaven above,

I am thine only Mother,

Nor will affection let me

Believe thou canst forget me.