With thoughts of Judgment and the Grave, in thy de

parting prayer!

Thy wish would sure have been that thus thy cherished work might stand,

Outspreading, like some stately tree, its branches through the land!

That where in life thy knee was bent, thy children still might bend,

Their hope, their creed, their heart the same, unchanging to the end!

That still thy memory might have power, like some proud battle-cry,

To bring the flush to Boyhood's cheek, the fire to Age's

eye.

That on their lips, and in their hearts, the magic of thy

name

Should live when all things else decay-THE SAME AND

STILL THE SAME !

THE GRAVE

OF THE AUTHOR

OF "THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS."

I.

UPON the shores of that sweet Isle
Where Summer wears her softest smile-
That Southern Isle, where, long delayed,
The Roman's parting steps were stayed—
'Mid hills with heather crowned, that rise
Far upward through the peaceful skies;
Whose guardian care would fain exclude
Each footstep, that might else intrude
From out the common world of men-
There lies a deep sequestered glen.

II.

Beside the path that downward strays,

Through many a wild and tangled maze--
Embowered in trees, whose shadow falls
So gently on those hoary walls-

Gray with its load of countless years,
The ancient Church its front uprears.
Within is stillness hushed, profound,
Solemn as theirs that slumber round:
Save that, from Ocean's ceaseless flow,
A murmur rises, deep and low.

III.

Along that steep and winding way
They bore thee on a winter's day;
Where oft in life thy steps had passed,

Each Sabbath feebler than the last.

The sadness of the earth and air

That hour of mourning seemed to share:
As underneath the peaceful shade

Of those time-hallowed walls we laid
Thy mortal part, in solemn trust,
To wait the Rising of the Just!

IV.

We sought not o'er thy tomb to raise
The pomp of monumental praise :
For the true honours of the dead
Are the warm tears we freely shed.
And such parade of earthly pride
Had memory, meek as thine, belied.
One record there-the first, the last,
The only record of the past,

Thy humble heart might not disown-
We laid-a simple cross of stone.

V.

When steals across the twilight gray
The first faint tinge of early day;
When Ocean's morning breezes bring
Freshness and health upon their wing,
And earth awakens, bright and young,
As into life when first she sprung-
At that glad hour, the watchful eye
May, by the gathering light, descry
The sacred Emblem faintly throw
Its Shadow on the Tomb below.

VI.

Most meet that emblem-thus with thee,

Yea 'mid thy very childhood's glee,

Who watched that childhood's hours, might trace The Spirit's growth of early grace:

In meek obedience promptly shown;

In reverent look, and thoughtful tone;
In gentle smiles, and loving tears;

And thoughts that seemed of graver years→→→→
Might well divine, that tender shoot

Would one day bear immortal fruit!

VII.

When noon, with dazzling strength arrayed,
Weaves her rich robe of light and shade;
When skies their gorgeous tints endue,

And the blue wave its deepest blue;
When crowded mart, and jostling street,
Echo the tramp of busy feet;

And every sound of earth and air,

Tells but of worldly toil and care:

Then, clear and sharp, upon the stone,
The outline of the Cross is thrown