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

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,
Thou turnest not away,

Thou know'st us calm at heart.

One look, and we have seen our last of thee,

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Till we too sleep, and our long sleep be o'er :
O cleanse us, ere we view
That countenance pure again,

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

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.

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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

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The whole earth blasted for our sake:
He giveth his beloved, sleep.

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, Who have no tune to charm away

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Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep:
But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber, when
He giveth his belovèd, sleep.

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.'

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,

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Would now its wearied vision close,

Would childlike 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 belovèd, sleep.'

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

CCLVIII

TO THE MEMORY OF MY VENERABLE GRANDFATHER-IN-LAW, SAMUEL MARTIN,

WHO WAS TAKEN FROM US IN THE SIXTY-EIGHTH YEAR OF HIS MINISTRY.

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.

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CCLIX

THE EVENING CLOUD.

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.

CCLX

NIGHT AND DEATH.

John Wilson.

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,

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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.

PART THE FIFTH.

CCLXI

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN.

Come, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below.

Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shorewards blow;
Now the salt tides seawards flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away.

This way, this way.

Call her once before you go.

Call once yet,

In a voice that she will know :

'Margaret! Margaret!'

Children's voices should be dear

(Call once more) to a mother's ear: Children's voices, wild with pain:

Surely she will come again.

Call her once, and come away.
This way, this way.

'Mother dear, we cannot stay.'

The wild white horses foam and fret.

Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down.

Call no more.

One last look at the white-walled town,

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And the little gray church on the windy shore,