LOST AND FOUND.

In this world, so surely sorrow
Ever closely follows joy,

That to-day we clasp no treasure
But the morrow may destroy.
The bird embowered securest,
Not seldom has to mourn
Her nest of love and shelter,
By the ruthless tempests torn.

There comes to all a season

When no light the day-star brings, And the blessed eve no glory bears Upon its golden wings.

So joyless rose the morning,

So darkly gloomed the day,
When we laid thee, precious darling,

In thy lonely house of clay.

Our only one, our dear one,

Did'st thou weary of our home?

Or was it that the angels

To their bright halls bade thee come? Did'st thou hear the silver music

Of their purple waving wings? Did they lure thee with revealings

Of fair bowers and living springs?

LOST AND FOUND.

Thou wast our household jewel;
We deemed thee all our own;
But the Master sent to claim thee
For his radiant royal crown.
Thou wast our bird of beauty,
The songster of our bower,
But thy starry wings spread skyward,
And we heard thy lay no more.

What sparkling hopes we buried

In the grave where thou dost lie;
For thou hadst a brow of promise,
And an angel's loving eye,
And we fondly said, in manhood
Thou wilt have a noble mien,
With an arm of strength and vigour
Whereon feebleness may lean.

Who can paint our spirits' anguish?
We had deemed with throbbing breast

Thou wouldst be with us a dweller,

And we found thee but a guest. 'Twas as if some rude hand sweeping O'er the starry dome of air,

Had dashed out all its splendour,

And left it blank and bare.

Time hath touched with healing fingers
Our sorrow's smarting wound,
And the seraph, hope, hath whispered
Where best comfort may be found,

And faith, the all-illuming,

Has charmed the dark away,

Has cleared our filmy vision,

And disclosed a holier day.

And now above the earth-cloud,
And beyond the crystal spheres,
We can see our cherub-darling

Clad in bloom untouched by years.
We behold the lamb we cherished
In a safer fold than ours,
Circled by a love more tender,
In the paradisal bowers.

Our angel, lost no longer!

We shall clasp thee yet again, We shall walk with thee in whiteness, O'er the fair ethereal plain : That home of light and beauty

Has of late become more dear, Since our own hearth's only darling Went to dwell in brightness there.

THE MAID IS NOT DEAD.

THE MAID IS NOT DEAD.

Addressed to the parents of a young lady who died at the age of fifteen.

Он, say not she is dead!

Breathe not a word so dread!

Though still and cold the graceful form reclineth,
Forget the beauteous clay,

High in a purer day—

A more exalted sphere the spirit shineth.

What though her budding spring

Has felt the withering

Of mortal blight and merciless decay!
What though her life's young morn
Has darkened in its dawn,

Ere she had tasted of the golden day!

A nobler, purer life,

With fadeless beauty rife,

Of deeper consciousness and richer bloom,
Has all its fullness showered

On her young soul, and dowered

Her being with a bliss which knows no gloom.

Ah! why so sadly grieve

That your beloved should leave

Her earthly dwelling for a palace fair?

Your loss to her has been

A boundless gain I ween,

And heaven is richer for the loss ye bear.

For now another gem

Glows in the diadem

Of Him who fills the place with glory-beams;
Another precious flower

Blooms in the blissful bower;

Another lamb feeds by the crystal streams.

Another minstrel flings

Music from sweet harp-strings; Another star illumes the spirit-land;

Another white-robed form

Basks in the radiance warm;

Another seraph joins the sister band.

Ah, weep! but not in woe;

Rather should joy-tears flow,

That your sweet child hath found a home so fair. Let hope and faith be strong,

And

ye will both, ere long,

In all her joy and all her glory share.