That we faint 'neath burdens heavy: nearer gleam the angel hands;

Smiles of welcome on dear faces; cool and sweet the shadow-lands.

Faint and low my soul was drifting

All confused 'twixt wrong and right;
When in latter days uplifting

Wearied eyes, to where the light

Floods the eventide; I then saw, faintly formed in dreamy

air,

Climes, in which life seemed as grand as ever sought in purest prayer.

Damp and pale thy brow, my brother,

Death's drear voice calls thee away :

On this earth I have no other

Friend; but through-all through to-day

I have known thy hours are numbered,—see, I weep no passionate tears!

God by this new patience tells me, needless are my trembling fears.

Dearest I, beside thee kneeling,

While thy soul is lingering yet,
See that earth hath been revealing

GOD to us. Thou may'st forget,

When the grand days spread before thee, that we 'midst this mortal air

Learned, though dimly, truths eternal, side by side, to perfect there.

Tired, my hands now cease from braiding

This rich garment: 'twas to gain

Food and wine, to bring the fading

Life to thy loved form again.

All too late, and all so useless! Yet my heart is strangely

calm :

Faded now its fitful fever-learning this far grander psalm.

See, I draw aside the curtain

From the casement brown and old;
Trembleth here the light uncertain,

Shadows deep our room enfold.

Let me raise thee from the pillow: earth seems yet so wondrous fair

Sunlight sweet on far fields falling, e'en though seen through mists of care.

Past tall roofs the river gleameth;

Down the bank with trees o'erhung

Slowly lovers ride-one seemeth

Soft to speak the tale oft sung;

Reineth in his steed's arched neck, and bendeth low his youthful head,

Dreams like these once filled my soul before sweet hope of life lay dead!

See, they ride into the hollow,

'Midst the shadow cool and deep;

Day is sweet, and night will follow,

Bringing the still, dreamless sleep!

Strangely mingled joys and sorrows, on this fair be wild'ring earth!

Thou and I wait in Death's shadow,-from the street come sounds of mirth!

And, perchance, when I to-morrow

Upward look through depths of blue,
In this stillness I may borrow

Comfort from the thought that through

Summer warmth and light and brilliance thy soul lingers

mine to meet,

When my tired limbs rest for ever, when my pulse shall cease to beat.

Look, dear, on this strange sweet painting
Where the CHRIST doth patient stand-
Though we've been with hunger fainting,
This was treasured still,—the hand

Gifted with such wondrous cunning ages since hath turned to dust;

Yet this work remains a token of the power he held in trust.

Taking these attempts unfinished
(Faint beginnings here of life),
There, where trials are diminished,

Work again! Our memories rife

With sweet sights and sounds of this fair earth: soft shadows fall

On the far-off hills, and night steals near; and tell me, is this all?

Clear, thine eyes now see the dawning
Of thy grand eternal day;

Nay, I will not sit here mourning,

Blaming GOD for my brief stay.

Yet some days I'll watch the shadows of the tall house on the street,

Thinking still of long past times, until the glad hour

when we meet.

Kind hands brought these roses hither,

Richest red and purest white;

Going where they do not wither,

Take one, for in fields of light

'Twill recall this earth; and, when thou com'st to meet

me, in thy hand

Bring this rose-Thy lips are still! thy soul hath glided to the Land!

THE DIFFERENCE.

A MONTH ago to-day since you died;

Thick clusters of blossom I place on your tomb.
Five weeks to-day since you stood by my side,
And showed me the first faint almond-bloom;

It passed in a week from flower to leaf-
Can my world have changed in a time so brief?

You have gone from the earth that you loved so well,
And the sky to-day is so deeply blue;

You have left the walks and the ways of life,

And the light is so fair on that far-off view

Of the sea that you loved.

Yet this dumb great pain

Like a weight on my heart through each day hath lain.

The swallows are cleaving the soft, warm air;

They are building to-day their last year's nest;
You always stood to watch them-there-

In your favourite place that looks to the west.
Yet the world seems to go on just the same,
As though Death were nothing, or only a name!

And the spring is coming so fast this year;
In the fresh, wild winds I can almost see
The branches blowing into bud, and near
Can feel the awakening life in tree

And flower, through the rush of the midnight rain,
Yet through all, this deadening weight of pain!

I know there is more e'en yet to be borne,

For the days will pass, and the roses will bloom; The deepening flush of the early dawn,

With the lengthening light, will steal through the room. But the anguished cry of my soul, "Thou art gone,"

Will but keener grow with each summer's morn.

And the breeze, alive with the breath of the sea,

Will come sweeping again through the quaint old street: How you used to say that each rustling tree

Was filled with the song that the sea-breeze fleet Had brought from the heart of the sea to the air: But, ah! you may not remember there.

Why, the silent house is echoing still

With the tones of the voice it knew so well,
And the books you loved still send a thrill
Because of your fingers' touch, which fell
So oft on each poet-page, while the rare
Words softly floated on the listening air.

And they tell me for comfort you've gone to God;
As though God were more there than here.
Why, just to watch the way that you trod,
More than of any promise made clear

That God dwells in the soul, whose stainless days
Are sweet in His sight as a hymn of praise.

And we are not, they say, too far apart

For you, all unseen, to approach again;

Nor too far, when I stand with despairing heart,
For your unfelt touch to soothe my pain;
Nor with unheard speech, from your fulness of light,
Too far, as of old, to show me the right.