The Snow-Drop | Page 5

with her
must shortly part.
The long feared fatal hour draws near,--
Deep silence hushed the

mourning throng,
Yet still her feeble voice they hear,--
Dear mother,
falters on her tongue.
That name her infant tongue first learned,
It trembled on her latest
breath;--
Yet a deaf ear the monster turned,
And hushed the tender
sound in death.
A placid smile is on her brow;--
Does filial love still linger there?

Or does her convoy angel now
Breathe heavenly music in her ear?
Long ere a springing blade appeared
Upon that daughter's new made
grave,--
Consumption cries, Oh! be prepared,
Another blooming
form I crave.
A youthful son was now his prey,--
Whose rising merits win each
heart,--
A noble mind beams from his eye,--
Fair virtue dwells in
his young heart.
Yet pale disease now lurks around,
His active limbs their vigor lose;

But lo! he hears the joyful sound;--
The gospel brings him glorious
news.
What though his earthly house decays,
And swiftly sink life's ebbing
sands;
He's one eternal in the skies,
Not made by dying, mortal
hands.
While friends ask, must you go so soon,
Oh must we part with you
to-day?
He, smiling, says, I crave the boon;
Joyful I go without
delay.
My Savior cheers the lonely vale,
His smiles of love dispel the gloom;

Oh then how can my courage fail--
Why should I dread the
peaceful tomb?
The Savior blest this lowly bed,
And robbed the monster of his sting;

My Lord will raise me from the dead,--
Give me a harp and bid me

sing.
Behold this lovely, youthful saint,
In raptures close his dying eyes;

He yields to death without complaint,
And soars triumphant to the
skies.
Voracious grave! thou ne'er wast cloy'd!
Thy constant cry has been
for more,
Since Abel, thy first victim, died;
Yet thou art eager as
before.
Once more death bends the fatal bow,--
Again he seeks a shining
mark;
Another blooming son lies low,--
Death steals away the vital
spark.
Though far from home and those dear friends
Which soothe his grief
and crown his bliss,
His heavenly Father comfort sends,--
The Holy
Spirit whispers peace.
He seeks the dear paternal hearth,
To die by his fond parent's side;

To him the dearest friends on earth,
Who with a smile each tear
would hide.
A few short weeks he lingered there,
While heav'nly peace reigned in
his breast;
He cries, my friends, oh now prepare
To meet where
sorrows ne'er molest.
Though earthly friends are dear to me,
I feel them twining round my
heart,
A friend in heaven, by faith, I see,
Who bids my joyful soul
depart.
Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears;
Bid ev'ry murm'ring
thought be still;
My mind is free from doubts and fears,--
I sink into
my Savior's will.
With smiles of vict'ry on his brow,
And heav'nly transport in his
breast,
Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe,
And like an infant

sinks to rest.
Down through the portals of the sky
Descend a glorious shining band.

Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's
right hand.
Nor does the monster yet relent,--
Four blooming victims he has slain,

Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.
And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom?

Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the
tomb.
See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful
glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she
must go.
With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the
grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,
The precious jewel which
he gave.
But when the trump of God shall sound,
To call each sainted sleeper
home,
Should they, with ev'ry child, surround
The mighty conq'ror
of the tomb--
They'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just,
Behold is and our children here!

Thou didst in love give them to us,
And we resigned them to thy
care.
Now we will chant Redemption's sung,
Which Gabriel never learned
to sing,
Nor one of all th' angelic throng,--
To Jesus, prophet, priest
and king.
THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.[2]
No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers,
Could be more sweet than

these dear flowers
To each surviving friend;
They'll water them
with falling tears,
And nurse them through succeeding years,
And
from each ill defend.
Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,--
My daughters planted you
and died,--
You are most dear to me;
Each now in smiling beauty
stands,
Where placed by these fair youthful hands,--
Sweet rose and
lilac tree.
Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,--
I love to see you flourish
there,
And in bright beauty bloom;
Each tiny leaf I hold most dear,

Although you oft call forth a tear
For loved ones in the tomb.
Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may;
Your fading leaves will
soon portray
The lovely, fragile form,
Which passed from earth
while skies seemed fair,
Like vapors quiv'ring in the air,
Before a
coming storm.
I gaze upon these opening flowers--
They bring a dream of blissful
hours,
When brighter germs were mine;
Once on my throbbing
bosom lay
Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they,
Fraught with
immortal minds.
'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade--
Fair emblems of the
youthful dead,
But spring restores their