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We each commend each to Omnipotent hands,

And calm on His promise repose ; And know that, though scattered o'er seas and

o'er lands,

We are sure to reach home at the close.

Meanwhile, we kneel down at the same Throne

of Grace; We breathe up the same daily prayer ; We march the same road to the same happy place,

The same Spirit guiding us there.
Sweet hope realizes the things that shall be,

those that have been ; And, reaching by these to what sense cannot see,

We lose the dark present between.

We strive to be all that the absent would love ;

To fee from what they would condemn; Intent, when we meet, upon earth or above,

To be found the more worthy of them.

With aims so exalted, and trust so secure,

All else is in lovely accord, All holy, all happy, all peaceful and pure.

O, who would not love in the Lord ?


She rests beneath her native earth,
Close to the spot that gave her birth.

feet trod the flowers that bloom
Meet emblems—on her early tomb :
Her living voice was wont to cheer
The echoes which our sorrows hear.

She rests beneath her native earth ;
And few remain to speak her worth.
Her little sojourn here was spent
In unobtrusive banishment :
A flower upon the desert thrown,
That lived and breathed to God alone.


Yet long her gentle ways shall dwell
In hearts that knew and loved her well;
And oft they lift their tearful eyes,
To hear her calling from the skies;
And ill could they her absence bear,
But that they hope to join her there.


O SPARE my flower, my gentle flower,

The slender creature of a day !
Let it bloom out its little hour,

And pass away.
Too soon its fleeting charms must lie

Decayed, unnoticed, overthrown.
O hasten not its destiny,

Too like thy own.

The breeze will roam this way to-morrow,

And sigh to find his playmate gone : The bee will come its sweets to borrow,

And meet with none.

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