Far better they should sleep awhile
Within the Church's shade,

Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth,
Meet for their new immortal birth

For their abiding place be made,

Than wander back to life, and lean
On our frail love once more.
'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.

Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on,
Through prayer unto the tomb,
Still, as ye watch life's falling leaf,
Gathering from every loss and grief
Hope of new spring and endless home.

Then cheerly to your work again
With hearts new brac'd and set
To run, untir'd, love's blessed race,
As meet for those, who face to face

Over the grave their Lord have met.-Keble.

TO A DYING INFANT.

Sleep, little baby! sleep!
Not in thy cradle bed,
Not on thy mother's breast
Henceforth shall be thy rest,-

But with the quiet dead.

Yes, with the quiet dead,
Baby, thy rest shall be!
Oh, many a weary wight,

Weary of life and light,

Would fain lie down with thee.

Flee, little tender nursling!

Flee to thy grassy nest;

There the first flowers shall blow,

The first

pure

flake of snow

Shall fall upon thy breast.

Mount up in mortal essence!

Young spirit, haste, depart!

And is this death? dread thing!

If such thy visiting,—

How beautiful thou art!

for ever

Oh, I could gaze
Upon thy waxen face;

So passionless, so pure!

The little shrine was sure

An angel's dwelling place.

Thou weepest, childless mother!
Ay, weep,-'twill ease thine heart ;—

He was thy first-born son,

Thy first, thine only one,

"Tis hard from him to part!

"Tis hard to lay thy darling

Deep in the damp, cold earth,

His empty crib to see,

His silent nursery,

Once gladsome with his mirth.

But thou wilt there, fond mother,

In after years look back,

(Time brings such wondrous easing)

With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en in his gloomy tract.

Thou'lt say" My first-born blessing, It almost broke my heart

When thou wert forced to go!

And yet for thee, I know,

'Twas better to depart!

"God took thee in his mercy, A lamb untasked, untried; He fought the fight for thee,

He won the victory,

And thou art sanctified.

"I look around and see The evil ways of men ;

And, oh! beloved child!

I'm more than reconciled

To thy departure then.

"Now like the dew-drop shrined

Within a chrystal stone,

Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove,

Safe with the source of love

The everlasting One.

"And when the hour arrives

From flesh that sets me free,

Thy spirit may await,

The first at heaven's gate,

To meet and welcome me."

Miss Bowles.

THE LITTLE SHROUD.

She put him on a snow-white shroud,

A chaplet on his head;

And gathered early primroses

To scatter o'er the dead.

"Twas hard to lay him there,

When spring was putting forth her flowers,

And everything was fair.

She had lost many children,-now

The last of them was gone;

And day and night she sat and wept,

Beside the funeral stone.