"NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE."

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 final rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond the reign of death,

There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath,

Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown;
A long eternity of love,

Formed for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here,
Translated to that glorious sphere.

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Thus star by star declines,
"Till all are passed away,

As morning high and higher shines,

To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night,

But hide themselves in heaven's own light.

A MOTHER'S LAMENT.

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 did'st thou leave behind thee
A clue for love to find thee.

The eye, the lip, the cheek, the brow,
The hands stretch'd forth in gladness,
And 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-no thought can guess them;
And mine-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 detained 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.

Then-thou in heaven and I on earth

May this one hope delight us,

That thou wilt hail my second birth,

When death shall reunite us,

Where worlds no more can sever

Parent and child for ever.

MONTGOMERY.