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I praise thee while my days go on;
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
TWaiting by the Gate.
Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by,
The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight,
Behold, the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now,
In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour
Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws
() glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! () crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze ! O breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air Scatters a moment's sweetness, and Alies we know not where!
I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn;
I mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within my heart,
Whatever thou canst call thine own!
Doth give thee that, but that alone!
Take them, O Grave ! and let them lie
Folded upon thy narrow shelves,
And precious only to ourselves !
Take them, () great Eternity!
Our little life is but a gust
And trails its blossoms in the dust!
Dropping Down the River.
Dropping down the troubled river,
To the tranquil, tranquil shore; Dropping down the misty river, Time's willow-shaded river,
To the spring embosomed shore;
And the sun goes down no more;
Dropping down the winding river,
To the wide and welcome sea; Dropping down the narrow river, Man's weary, wayward river,
To the blue and ample sea;
Where the sky is fair and free;
Dropping down the noisy river,
To our peaceful, peaceful home; Dropping down the turbid river, Earth’s bustling, crowded river,
To our gentle, gentle home:
And the vexings cannot come,
Droppirg down the rapid river,
To the dear and deathless land; Dropping down the well-known river, Life's swoln and rushing river
To the resurrection-land;
And the dead have joined the band,
With longing for the things that may not be;
Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.
“ What is this life ? and what to us is death?
Whence came we? whither go? and where are those Who, in a moment stricken from our side,
Passed to that land of shadow and repose?
“And are they dust? and dust must we become ?
Or are they living in some unknown clime ?
And live anew beyond the waves of time?”
So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,
When Socrates lay calmly down to die ;
When earth’s fair morning-star should rise on high.
They found him not, those youths of soul divine,
Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore -
Death came and found them — doubting as before.
But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came
Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew;
Encircled only by his trusting few.
“Let not your heart be troubled," then he said;
* My Father's house hath mansions large and fair; I go before you to prepare your place;
'I will return to take you with me there.”
And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,
And life and death are glorified and fair.
H. B. Stowe.
A German Funeral Mymn. "Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come.” -- HEB. xiii., 14.
Come forth! Come on! with solemn song!
Make no delay,