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The blessing of her quiet life
Fell on us like the dew;
Like fairy blossoms grew.
Her smile no longer cheers;
Like eyes that look through tears.
Alone unto our Father's will
One thought hath reconciled : That He whose love exceedeth ours
Hath taken home his child.
Fold her, O Father, in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
Our human hearts and thee.
Still let her mild rebuking stand
Between us and the wrong,
Our faith in goodness strong.
Distrusted all her powers,
John G. Whittier.
The Angel of Patience.
John G. Whittier.
After the Burial.
But after the shipwreck, tell me
Then better one spar of memory,
To the spirit its splendid conjectures ;
Immortal ? I feel it, I know it:
Console if you will; I can bear it:
It is pagan: but wait till you feel it, — That jar of our earth, that dull shock, When the ploughshare of deeper passion Tears down to our primitive rock.
Communion in spirit ? Forgive me;
That little shoe in the corner,
To a Friend after the Loss of a Child.
AFTER our child's untroubled breath
Up to the Father took its way,
Like a long twilight haunting lay;
And friends came round, with us to weep
Her little spirit's swift remove,The story of the Alpine sheep
Was told to us by one we love.
They, in the valley's sheltering care,
Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare
The shepherd strives to make them climb
To airy shelves of pasture green,,
That hang along the mountain's side, Where grass and flowers together lean,
And down through mists the sunbeams slide.
But nought can tempt the timid things
The steep and rugged path to try, Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,
And seared below the pastures lie,
Till in his arms their lambs he takes,
Along the dizzy verge to go,
They follow on, o'er rock and snow.
And in those pastures, lifted fair,
More dewy. soft than lowland mead, The shepherd drops his tender care,
And sheep and lambs together feed.
This parable, by nature breathed,
Blew on me as the south wind free
From icy thraldom to the sea.
A blissful vision, through the night,
Would all my happy senses sway,
Or climbing up the stony way,
While, like the murmur of the sea,
Saying, “Arise, and follow me!”
The Old Man's Funeral. I saw an aged man upon his bier;
His hair was thin and white, and on his brow
Cares that were ended and forgotten now.
Then rose another hoary man, and said,
In faltering accents to that weeping train:
Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain,
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,–
Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie, And leaves the smile of his departure spread O’er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain-head. “Why weep ye then for him, who, having won
The bound of man's appointed years, at last,
Serenely to his final rest has passed ;