O, there be yearnings for thee, gentlest one,

Gone with thy grace and thy sweet laughter's

tone.

Meet were thy footsteps for the world of flowers,
And thy lost beauty for the coming hours

Of the crowned summer's reign;
And thou within the silent grave art laid,
And melody of bird and breeze is made
Henceforth to thee in vain.

And there are dancing o'er the joyous earth
Light-hearted children in their fearless mirth;
And they remember not

The clasping of thy gentle hand, thou child,
The spirit beautiful and undefiled,

Now parted from their lot.

But I will speak of thee at eventide,

When, in their watchfulness, the pure stars glide Above thy narrow bed,

And when, alas! shall come the morning's gleam, Bringing all beauty unto leaf and stream,

Yet reaching not the dead.

I will remember, and the dream shall be
Forever more a welcome thing to me,
Child of my bosom's love;

And I will deem thou 'rt standing even now,
With the hair parted on thy sinless brow,
In a bright world above.

MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH?

CAROLINE GILMAN.

"MOTHER, how still the baby lies!
I cannot hear his breath;
I cannot see his laughing eyes-
They tell me this is death.

My little work I thought to bring,
And sat down by his bed,
And pleasantly I tried to sing-
They hushed me he is dead.

They say that he again will rise,
More beautiful than now;

That God will bless him in the skies-
O, mother, tell me how!"

"Daughter, do you remember, dear,
The cold, dark thing you brought,
And laid upon the casement here,-
A withered worm, you thought?

I told you that Almighty power
Could break that withered shell,
And show you, in a future hour,
Something would please you well.

Look at the chrysalis, my love,→→→
An empty shell it lies ;-

Now raise your wondering glance above,
To where yon insect flies!"

"O, yes, mamma! how very gay

Its wings of starry gold!

And see! it lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.

O, mother, now I know full well,
If God that worm can change,
And draw it from this broken cell,
On golden wings to range,-

How beautiful will brother be,

When God shall give him wings,

Above this dying world to flee,
And live with heavenly things!"

IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?

W. B. TAPPAN.

'Tis well with her, who on that bed
Of sickness, late, was laid so low;
'Tis well-though anguish bowed her head,
And conflicts rent her bosom so.

'Twas well with her in health's glad hour,
Well, when the wasting arrow came;
Oh, she could trust his wing of power,
For she had learned a Saviour's name.

'Tis well with her, though we have laid In kindred dust that beauteous form; She lives, a bright celestial maid,

Far, far above life's raging storm.

'Tis well with her-the lovely one, Though like a broken flower she lies; Her mortal puts immortal on,

Her graces flourish in the skies.

'Tis well with her-O God, 't is well

Ever with those whom thou dost love,
Whether in fleshly tents they dwell,
Or tread thy starry courts above.

I HEAR THY VOICE, O SPRING.

WILLIAM J. PABODIE.

I HEAR thy voice, O Spring, Its flute-like tones are floating through the air, Winning my soul, with their wild ravishing, From earth's heart-wearying care.

Divinely sweet thy song

But yet, methinks, as near the groves I pass, Low sighs on viewless wings are borne along, Tears gem the springing grass.

For where are they, the young,

The loved, the beautiful, who, when thy voice,
A year agone, along these valleys rung,
Did hear thee and rejoice?

Thou seek'st for them in vain

No more they'll greet thee in thy joyous round; Calmly they sleep beneath the murmuring main, Or moulder in the ground.

Yet peace, my heart-be still!

Look upward to yon azure sky, and know
To heavenlier music now their bosoms thrill,
Where balmier breezes blow.

For them hath bloomed a spring, Whose flowers perennial deck a holier sod, Whose music is the song that seraphs sing, Whose light, the smile of GOD!

THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD.

J. H. WARLAND.

GONE-gone-so early gone :

Snatched from my bosom, in thy infant bloom,

Like the opening rose that is cut down

Ere yet its first perfume

Scenteth the summer air-like blush of even
Fading away and melting into Heaven.