She is not dead,

the child of our affection,

But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though un-
spoken,

May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild

In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.

And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the

ocean

That cannot be at rest

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.

LONGFELLOW.

YES, AS A CHILD.

"Not as a child shall we again behold her."

Longfellow.

O, SAY not so! how shall I know my darling, If changed her form, and veil'd with shining hair? If, since her flight, has grown my little starling,

How shall I know her there?

On memory's page, by viewless fingers painted, I see the features of my angel-child;

She passed away, ere sin her soul had tainted Passed to the undefiled.

O, say not so! for I would clasp her, even
As when below she lay upon my breast :

And dream of her as my fair bud in Heaven,
Amid the blossoms blest.

My little one was like a folded lily,
Sweeter than any on the azure wave;

But night came down, a starless night, and chilly;
Alas! we could not save!

Yes, as a child, serene and noble poet,

(O, Heaven were dark, were children wanting

there!)

I hope to clasp my bud as when I wore it;

A dimpled baby fair.

Though years have flown, toward my blue-eyed

daughter

My heart yearns ofttimes with a mother's love, Its never-dying tendrils now enfold her, Enfold my child above.

E'en as a babe, my little blue-eyed daughter,
Nestle and coo upon my heart again;

Wait for thy mother by the river-water,

It shall not be in vain !

Wait as a child, - how shall I know my darling, If changed her form, and veil'd with shining

hair?

If, since her flight, has grown my little starling, How shall I know her there?

FANNY FALES.

TAKEN FROM THE LIFE TO COME.

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.

The little arms that clasped me,
The innocent life that pressed,
Would they have been as pure,
Till now, as when of yore

I lulled thee on my breast?

Now like a dew drop shrined
Within a crystal 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.

MRS. SOUTHEY.

THE LITTLE ONE IS DEAD.

SMOOTH the hair and close the eyelids,
Let the window curtains fall;

With a smile upon her features,
She has answered to the call.

Let the children kiss her gently,
As she lies upon her bed;
God hath called her to his bosom,
And the little one is dead.

AN EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.

BENEATII this stone, in soft repose,
Is laid a mother's dearest pride,

A flower that scarce had waked to life,
And light and beauty, ere it died.
God, in his wisdom, has recalled

The precious boon His love had given, And though the casket moulders here, The gem is sparkling now in heaven.