IN MEMORY OF CHARLES WENTWORTH UPHAM, JUNIOR. He was all sunshine; in his face The very soul of sweetness shone ; None like him we can call our own. Something there was of one that died Whose smile it was a bliss to know. Something of her whose love imparts We feel its twilight in our hearts Bright as the earliest morning-shine. Yet richer strains our eye could trace That made our plainer mould more fair, That curved the lip with happier grace, That waved the soft and silken hair. Dust unto dust! the lips are still That only spoke to cheer and bless ; The folded hands lie white and chill Unclasped from sorrow's last caress. Leave him in peace; he will not heed "Shall I not weep my heartstrings torn, O Mary! one who bore thy name, Whose Friend and Master was divine, Sat waiting silent till He came, Bowed down in speechless grief like thine. "Where have ye laid him?" "Come," they say, Pointing to where the loved one slept; Weeping, the sister led the way, And, seeing Mary, "Jesus wept." He weeps with thee, with all that mourn, Trust in his word; thy dead shall rise! April 15, 1860. MARTHA. DIED JANUARY 7, 1861. SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone; Toll the bell! toll the bell! Her weary hands their labor cease; Good night, poor Martha, sleep in peace! Toll the bell! Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone; Toll the bell! toll the bell! For many a year has Martha said, "I'm old and poor, - would I were dead!" Toll the bell! Sexton Martha's dead and gone; Toll the bell! toll the bell! She'll bring no more, by day or night, Her basket full of linen white. Toll the bell! Sexton! Martha's dead and gone; Toll the bell toll the bell! 'Tis fitting she should lie below A pure white sheet of drifted snow. Sexton! Martha's dead and gone; Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light, |