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I thought of the friends, who had roamed with me there,
I hastened the scene to behold,
'Twas a dream !_not a token or trace could 1 view
And methought the lone river, that murmured along,
I paused :—and the moral came home to
Then, 0, let us look-let our prospects allure-
The Little Graves.-ANONYMOUS.
'Twas autumn, and the leaves were dry
And rustled on the ground,
With low and pensive sound.
As through the grave-yard's lone retreat
By meditation led,
Above the sleeping dead, -
My close attention drew;
And one seemed fresh and new.
As, lingering there, I mused awhile
On death's long, dreamless sleep, And opening life's deceitful smile,
A mourner came to weep.
ller form was bowed, but not with years,
Her words were faint and few, And on those little graves her tears
Distilled like evening dew.
A prattling boy, some four years old,
Her trembling hand embraced, And froni my heart the tale he told
Will never be effaced.
“Mămma',* now you must love me more
For little sister's dead;
And brother too, you said.
•Mamma, what made sweet sister die ?
She loved me when we played : You told me, if I would not cry, You'd show me where she's laid."
* a sounded as in father.
"Tis here, my child, that sister lies
Deep buried in the ground:
And she can hear no sound.”
•Mamma, why can't we take her up, ,
And put her in my bed? I'll feed her from my
сир, , And then she won't be dead.
*For sister'll be afraid to lie
In this dark grave to-night, And she'll be very cold, and cry,
Because there is no light."
"No, sister is not cold, my child ;
For God, who saw her die, As he looked down from heaven and smiled
Recalled her to the sky.
" And then her spirit quickly fled
To God, by whom 'twas given, Her body in the ground is dead,
But sister lives in heaven."
"Mamma, won't she be hungry there
And want some bread to eat?
And keep them clean and neat?
Păpa' must go and carry some;
L'II send her all I've got ;
Mamma, now must he not ?"
“No, my dear child, that cannot be ;
But, if you're good and true, You'll one day go to her; but she
Can never come to you.
" Let little children come to me,
Once our good Saviour said, And in his arms she'll always be,
And God will give her bread.”
Life and Death. New MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
O FEAR not thou to die!
But rather fear to live ; for life Has thousand snares thy feet to try,
By peril, pain, and strife. Brief is the work of death ;
But life the spirit shrinks to see How full, erę heaven recalls the breath, The cup of wo may
O fear not thou to die !
No more to suffer or to sin ;
No traitor heart within :
The gay, the light, the changeful scene The flattering smiles that greet thee here,
From heaven thy heart to wean.
Fear, lest, in evil hour,
Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome, By clouds that in the horīzon lower,
Thy spirit feel that gloom, Which, over earth and heaven,
The covering throws of fell despair; And deems itself the unforgiven,
Predestined child of care.
O fear not thou to die !
To die, and be that blessed one, Who, in the bright and beauteous sky,
May feel his conflict done May feel that, never more,
The tear of grief or shame shall come, For thousand wanderings from the Power Who loved, and called him home!
The Burial of Arnold.-N. P. WILLIS
Ye've gathered to your place of prayer,
With slow and measured tread:
But the soul of one has fled.
The manliest of ye all;
And ye around his pall ?
Ye reckon it in days, since he
that foot-worn aisle, With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile. 0, had it been but told
To mark whose lamp was dim,
Would ye have singled him?
Whose was the sinewy arm, which flung
Defiance to the ring?
Yet not for glorying ?
No rivalry might brook,
There lies he-go and look!
On now--his requiem is done,
The last deep prayer is said On to his burial, comrades-on,
With the noblest of the dead !
It is a man ye bear!
On the noble sleeper there.
Tread lightly, comrades!—we have laid
His dark locks on his brow
* A member of the senior class in Yale College.