Shall these poor elements outlive

The mind whose kingly will they wrought? Their gross unconsciousness survive

Thy godlike energy of thought?

THOU LIVEST, FOLLEN!— not in vain
Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne
The burden of Life's cross of pain,

And the thorned crown of suffering worn.

Oh! while Life's solemn mystery glooms
Around us like a dungeon's wall,-
Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs,
Silent the heaven which bends o'er all!

While day by day our loved ones glide
In spectral silence, hushed and lone,
To the cold shadows which divide

The living from the dread Unknown ;--

While ever on the closing eye,

And on the lip which moves in vain, The seals of that stern mystery

Their undiscovered trust retain ;

And only 'midst the gloom of death,

Its mournful doubts and haunting fears, Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,

Smile dimly on us through their tears; —

FOLLEN.

'Tis something to a heart like mine
To think of thee as living yet;
To feel that such a light as thine
Could not in utter darkness set.

Less dreary seems the untried way
Since thou hast left thy footprints there,
And beams of mournful beauty play
Round the sad angel's sable hair.

Oh! at this hour when half the sky
Is glorious with its evening light,
And fair broad fields of summer lie

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Hung o'er with greenness in my sight;

While through these elm-boughs wet with rain The sunset's golden walls are seen,

With clover bloom and yellow grain

And wood-draped hill and stream between;

I long to know if scenes like this

Are hidden from an angel's eyes;

If earth's familiar loveliness

Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies.

For sweetly here upon thee grew
The lesson which that beauty gave,

The ideal of the Pure and True

In earth and sky and gliding wave.

And it may be that all which lends
The soul an upward impulse here,
With a diviner beauty blends,

And greets us in a holier sphere.

Through groves where blighting never fell, The humbler flowers of earth may twine; And simple draughts from childhood's well Blend with the angel-tasted wine.

But be the prying vision veiled,

And let the seeking lips be dumb, —— Where even seraph eyes have failed, Shall mortal blindness seek to come?

We only know that thou hast gone,
And that the same returnless tide
Which bore thee from us still glides on,
And we who mourn thee with it glide.

On all thou lookest we shall look,
And to our gaze erelong shall turn
That page of God's mysterious book
We so much wish, yet dread, to learn.

With Him, before whose awful power
Thy spirit bent its trembling knee,
Who, in the silent greeting flower,

And forest leaf, looked out on thee,

LINES ON CHANNING.

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We leave thee, with a trust serene

Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move,

While with thy childlike faith we lean

On Him whose dearest name is Love!

LINES ON CHANNING.

MRS. L. J. HALL.

WHEN sinks the sun, shall we forget
That but to us his beams are set?
When holy spirits pass away,
Shall we but weep o'er feeble clay?

With aspirations like thine own,
Pure being, whom we dare not mourn,
O let us mark, where dwells "no night,"
A new-born, active, burning light.

Shine on for ever, tranquil star!
Though in far heaven thy glories are,
Their solemn beams shall from this hour
Fall on our souls with added power.

Each thrilling cadence, each mild word
Of love or wisdom we have heard,
From gifted lips now still and cold,
Shall be imbued with power untold.

Go, Christian sage! Death now hath wrought
On pages glowing with thy thought;

Death, who hath calmed all pain, hath sealed
Thy power on earth,

and heaven revealed.

DEATH.

WRITTEN AFTER READING DR. BRAZER'S SERMON ON THE

DEATH OF HONORABLE LEVERETT SALTONSTALL.

C. J. FOX.

AND is this death? His suffering o'er,
Is this but lifeless clay?

Stands the freed soul before the throne
Of endless day?

O human life! mysterious soul!
Breath of the living God!

Its frame has now an angel's power,
Is now a clod!

So calm he lived, without complaint,
We scarce could think him ill;
And the same look he wore in life

Is on him still.