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The shadows fall more soothing, the soft air
Is full of cheering whispers like thine own;

While Memory, by thy grave,
Lives o'er thy funeral day ;

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The deep knell dying down ; the mourners' pause,
Waiting their Saviour's welcome at the gate;

Sure with the words of Heaven

Thy spirit met us there,
And sought with us along the accustomed way
The hallowed porch, and entering in beheld

The pageant of sad joy,

So dear to Faith and Hope.
Oh, hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise
To cheer us, happy soul! thou hadst not touched

The sacred springs of grief

More tenderly and true,
Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low,
Low as the grave, high as the eternal Throne,

Guiding through light and gloom

Our mourning fancies wild,
Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve
Around the western twilight, all subside

Into a placid Faith,

That e'en with beaming eye
Counts thy sad honours, coffin, bier, and pall :
So many relics of a frail love lost,

So many tokens dear

Of endless love begun.
Listen! it is no dream: the Apostle's trump
Gives earnest of the Archangel's : calmly now,

Our hearts yet beating high
To that victorious lay,

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Most like a warrior's, to the martial dirge
Of a true comrade, in the grave we trust

Our treasure for a while;

And if a tear steal down,
If human anguish o'er the shaded brow

45 Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth

Touches the coffin-lid ;

If at our brother's name Once and again the thought, “For ever gone,' Comes o’er us like a cloud ; yet, gentle spright, 50

Thou turnest not away,

Thou know'st us calm at heart.
One look, and we have seen our last of thee,
Till we too sleep, and our long sleep be o'er :
O cleanse us, ere we view

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That countenance pure again,
Thou, who canst change the heart and raise the dead !
As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour,

Be ready when we meet
With thy dear pardoning words.

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John Keble.
CCLIV

THE SLEEP.

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Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is
For gift or grace surpassing this,
• He giveth his beloved, sleep'?
What would we give to our beloved ?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep,
The patriot's voice to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown to light the brows ?-
He giveth his beloved, sleep.

IO

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What do we give to our beloved ?
A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake :
He giveth his beloved, sleep.

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• Sleep soft, beloved !' we sometimes say,
Who have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep :
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber, when
He giveth his beloved, sleep.

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O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices !
() delvèd gold, the wailers heap !
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth his beloved, sleep.

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His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap :
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth his beloved, sleep.

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Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
* Confirmed in such a rest to keep ;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard, —
• He giveth his beloved, sleep.'

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For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

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That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childiike on his love repose,
Who giveth his beloved, sleep.

And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,

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And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, “Not a tear must o'er her fall!
• He giveth his beloved, sleep.'

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

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CCLV

TO THE MEMORY OF MY VENERABLE GRANDFATHER-IN-LAW, SAMUEL MARTIN, WHO WAS TAKEN FROM US IN THE SIXTY-EIGHTH YEAR OF HIS MINISTRY.

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Fare well man's dark last journey o'er the deep,
Thou sire of sires ! whose bow in strength hath stood
These threescore years and ten, that thou hast wooed
Men's souls to heaven. In Jesus fall’n asleep,
Around thy couch three generations weep,
Reared on thy knees with wisdom's heavenly food,
And by thy counsels taught to choose the good ;
Who in thy footsteps press up Zion's steep,
To reach that temple which but now did ope
And let their father in. O'er his bier wake
No doleful strain, but high the note of hope
And praise uplift to God, who did him make
A faithful shepherd, of his Church a prop ;
And of his seed did faithful shepherds take.

Edward Irving.

IO CCLVI

THE EVENING CLOUD.

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A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun;
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow ;
Long had I watched the glory moving on,
O’er the still radiance of the lake below;
Tranquil its spirit seemed and floated slow ;
Even in its very motion there was rest ;
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul!
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given ;
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of heaven;
Where to the eye of Faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.

John Wilson.

CCLVII

NIGHT AND DEATH.

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Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue ?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,
And lo! creation widened in man's view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind !
Why do we then shun death with anxious strife ?
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

Blanco White.

IO