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No dear ones were her own peculiar care,
So was her bounty free as heaven's air ;
For every claim she had enough to spare.

And loving more the heart to give than lend,
Though oft deceived in many a trusty friend,
She hoped, believed and trusted to the end.

She had her joys: 'twas joy to live, to love,
To labor in the world with God above,
And tender hearts that ever near did move.

She had her griefs: but why recount them here, -
The heartsick loneliness, the onlooking fear,
The days of desolation, dark and drear,

Since every agony left peace behind,
And healing came on every stormy wind,
And with pure brightness every cloud was lined.

And every loss sublimed some low desire,
And every sorrow helped her to aspire,
Till waiting angels bade her go up higher !

Anonymous.

In Warbor.
I think it is over, over-

I think it is over at last;
Voices of foeman and lover,

The sweet and the bitter have passed :
Life, like a tempest of ocean,
Hath outblown its ultimate blast.

There's but a faint sobbing seaward,
While the calm of the tide deepens leeward,
And behold ! like the welcoming quiver
Of heart-pulses throbbed through the river,
Those lights in the Harbor at last
The heavenly Harbor at last!

I feel it is over, over

The winds and the waters surcease: How few were the days of the Rover

That smiled in the beauty of peace!
And distant and dim was the omen
That hinted redress or release.

From the ravage of Life and its riot,
What marvel I yearn for the quiet
Which bides in the Harbor at last? -
For the lights with their welcoming quiver
That throb through the sanctified river,
Which girdles the Harbor at last –
The heavenly Harbor at last?

I know it is over, over —

I know it is over at last:
Down sail; the sheathed anchor uncover,

For the stress of the voyage has passed:
Life, like a tempest of ocean,
Hath outblown its ultimate blast.

There's but a faint sobbing seaward,
While the calm of the tide deepens leeward,
And behold! like the welcoming quiver
Of heart-pulses throbbed through the river,
Those lights in the Harbor at last !
The heavenly Harbor at last !

Paul H. Hayne.

Out of the shadow. Gentle friends who gather here, With no gloom surround this bier, Drop no unavailing tear.

Bid this weary frame oppressed
Welcome to its longed-for rest
On the fair earth's sheltering breast.
And the spirit, freed from clay,
Give glad leave to soar away,
Singing, to the eternal day.

When this sentient life began,
Love of nature, love of man,
Through its kindling pulses ran;

Eagerly these eyes looked forth,
Questioning the teeming earth
For its stores of truth and worth ;

Head and heart with schemes were rife,
Longing for some noble strife,
Planning for some perfect life.

But the Father's love decreed
Other work and other meed,
And by ways unsought did lead;

Turned aside the out-stretched hand,
Bade the feet inactive stand,
Checked the task that thought had planned;

And on eyes that loved to gaze
Upon light's intensest rays,
Dropped a veil of gentlest haze.

How the musing spirit burned !
How the wilful nature yearned,
And its sacred limits spurned !

Known, O Father, unto thee
All the long captivity
Of the soul at last set free;
And how hard it was to see
Thy great harvests silently
Whitening upon land and lea;
And to watch the reapers' throng,
Filling all the vales with song,
As they bore their sheaves along.
And to thee, O pitying God,
Known thy grace that overflowed
All that still and sacred road,

Where thy patience brought relief,
Following in thy path of grief,
Thou of suffering souls the chief !

Yet since thou hast stooped to say, “Cast thy out-worn robe away, Come and rest with me to-day, —

“Come to larger life and power,
Come to truth's unfailing dower,
Come to strength renewed each hour ;'

To the dear ones gathered here
Make thy loving purpose clear,
And thy light shine round this bier.

Eliza Scudder.

Pass Over to Thy Rest.
From this bleak hill of storms,
To yon warm, sunny heights,
Where love forever shines,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

From hunger and from thirst,
From toil and weariness,
From shadows and from dreams,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

From weakness and from pain,
From trembling and from strife,
From watching and from fears,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

From vanity and lies,
From mockery and snares,
From disappointed hopes,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

From unrealities,
From hollow scenes of change,
From ache and emptiness,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

From this unanchored world,
Whose morrow none can tell,
From all things restless here,

Pass over to thy rest,
The rest of God!

H. Bonar.

A Prisoner. If one had watched a prisoner many a year, Standing beside a barred window-pane, Fettered with heavy hand-cuffs and with chain, And gazing on the blue sky far and clear; And suddenly some morning we should hear The man had in the night contrived to gain His freedom and was safe, would that bring pain ? Ah! would it not to dullest heart appear Good tidings ? Yesterday I looked on one Who lay as if asleep in perfect peace. His long imprisonment for life was done; Eternity's great freedom his release Had brought, yet they who loved him called him dead, And wept, refusing to be comforted.

H. H.

The Border-Lands.
Father, into thy loving hands

My feeble spirit I commit,
While wandering in these Border-Lands,

Until thy voice shall summon it.

Father, I would not dare to choose

A longer life, an earlier death;
I know not what my soul might lose

By shortened or protracted breath.

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