THE HOUSEHOLD CHAIN BROKEN. A TRUE NARRATIVE. BESIDE a flowing river, Where waving beeches stand, And silver aspens quiver, We dwelt,- -a happy band. We wandered through each upland scene, And thus the happy years flew by, Save his, who crossed the distant seas, No vacant place was seen, No voice's music had been hushed, Life glided like a dream. But three or four of all the band Sought an eternal home; The rest forgot the better land, Nor thought that death might come. Till He who doeth all things well The white-robed minister of death And by the loveliest and the best, Shall melt like the mists away, The shaft had sped, her roses fled, My flesh and heart are failing fast, O happy maiden, thou hast given Thy summer-time of glee, Thy heart's first fragrance unto heaven," Death had no sting for thee! Thus day by day, with a slow decay, Till her glad spirit rejoicing stood In the bright home of her "Saviour God : " *Psalm lxxiii. 26. Then years flew by, as the lightnings fly, Again the summons of death came nigh. "Twas heard by a child with sunny hair, She ceased her brother's sports to share, At midnight rose her wailing cry, Oh, what if I to-night should die, And with a strong though child-like faith, And ere the messenger came nigh, To her such faith was given; "I fear not now," she said, "to die, For Jesus is in heaven." Then came the bright one down, Bore her to her starry crown; Oh, what glad seraph-chants were strewn A year flew by, like a breeze's sigh, It came to one in manhood's prime, His feet had entered Jordan's stream, Its chill was on his frame; But till it froze his rich deep voice, But we trust it bore our wrested one And month by month, and year by year His white hairs bent o'er the Holy Book Thus years went by, with a warning cry The Patriarch bowed on the Sabbath-day At night he sank to his usual rest, At dawn came the summons there. His children stood by his painless couch, He knew them but could not speak ; He pressed their hands, and he looked farewell, Then turned the Book to seek, He placed it in their willing hands They read him that Word of God; And he calmly entered the vale of death, Oh, loudly rung each Angel's harp, Oh freshly gushed the mourner's tears, But on, on, the years rush on They must bring Death again: For one by one, till his task be done, Till the band unite,-an unbroken chain, S. O. M. |