If here they perished, in their being's germ,Here thought and aspiration had their term, Why should a giant's strength propel a worm? The dead — the dead,

There are no dead! The forms, indeed, did die,
That cased the ethereal beings now on high:
'Tis but the outward covering is thrown by :—
This is the dead!

The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing,
Have perished not; they have but taken wing, -
Changing an earthly for a Heavenly spring:
There are the dead!

A DREAM OF HEAVEN.

Lo, the seal of death is breaking,
Those who slept its sleep are waking,
Eden opes her portals fair !

Hark, the harps of God are ringing,
Hark, the seraph's hymn is singing,
And the living rills are flinging
Music on immortal air!

There no more at eve declining,
Suns without a cloud are shining

O'er the land of life and love;

Heaven's own harvests woo the reaper, Heaven's own dreams entrance the sleeper, Not a tear is left the weeper

To profane one flower above.

No frail lilies there are breathing,
There no thorny rose is wreathing
In the bowers of paradise;
Where the founts of life are flowing,
Flowers unknown to time are blowing,
Mid far richer verdure glowing

Than is sunned by mortal skies.

There no sigh of memory swelleth,
There no tear of misery dwelleth,

Hearts will bleed or break no more;
Past is all the cold world's scorning,
Gone the night and broke the morning,
With seraphic day adorning

Life's glad waves and golden shore.

Oh, on that bright shore to wander,
Trace those radiant waves meander,
All we loved and lost to see,
Is this hope so pure, so splendid,
Vainly with our being blended?
No! with time ye are not ended,
Visions of eternity!

THOUGHTS FOR THE DEPARTED.

THINK ever of the dead :

When Spring is beautiful, when Summer shines, When the soft skies rose-mingled lustre shed, When autumn sunbeams kiss the purple vines, And when the snow-stars glisten to them wing Thy gentlest thought; they filled thy life with spring.

The glorious dwellers in yon peopled skies!

Their thoughts, like dew-drops, on thy heart are shed:
They fill thy soul with blesséd sanctities, -

Sweet inspirations of the pure and fair, -
The spring-time breathings of celestial air!

They dwell with thee

Pavilioned in the auroral tents of light;

the dead:

Their spheres of heavenly influence round thee spread, Their pure transparence veiling them from sight.

Angelic ministers of love and peace,

Whose sweet solicitudes will never cease.

They strive with thee

the dead:

Spirit with spirit striving, heart with heart,
Alluring from the paths of Wrong you tread,
Spurned and resisted they may not depart,
In the dark prison of Life's last despair,
Lo! the delivering Angel's with thee there!

They watch with thee the dead:

Through the last agony, the doubt, the gloom, When Soul and Body are through pain unwed,

And Night droops down the midnight of the tomb:

And o'er the soul sense steals their wakening hymn, yet the song of Seraphim.

Familiar

They welcome thee — the dead : The soft, sweet glow of those belovéd eyes Balms each worn heart that long hath inly bled, And gives new glory to God's paradise! Love and remember them unseen, yet near, Their white feet guide thee to the immortal sphere!

THE HAPPIER SPHERE.

IF yon bright stars which gem the night,
Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,

Where kindred spirits re-unite,

Whom death has torn asunder here,
How sweet it were at once to die,

And leave this blighted orb afar
Mix soul with soul, to cleave the sky,
And soar away from star to star.

But oh! how dark, how drear, how lone
Would seem the brightest world of bliss,

If wandering through each radiant zone,
We failed to find the loved of this!
If there no more the ties should twine,
Which death's cold hand alone can sever,
Ah! then these stars in mockery shine,
More hateful as they shine forever.

It cannot be! - each hope and fear
That blights the eye or clouds the brow,
Proclaims there is a happier sphere

Than this black world that holds us now!
There is a voice which sorrow hears,

When heaviest weighs life's galling chain;
"Tis heaven that whispers "dry thy tears.
in heart shall meet again!"

The

pure

HOPE'S BRIGHTER SHORE.

THRICE happy he whom through each devious path
The Lamp of Faith conducts with steady light!
His spirit quails not at the tempest's wrath;
He trembles not when lowers the moonless night,
Nor fears the Ocean's roar.

O! life may have its sorrows and its cares,

Yet come they but from sin to purify;
While Death itself, the power that never spares,
Is but the soul-bark of Mortality,

Seeking a brighter shore!