Those tones would reach thee, though the worm, My brother, makes thy heart his bed. That sire, who thy existence gave, Now stands beside thy lowly grave.
It is not long since thou wert wont Within these sacred walls to kneel; This altar, that baptismal font,
These stones, which now thy dust conceal, The sweet tones of the Sabbath-bell, Were holiest objects to thy soul; On these thy spirit loved to dwell, Untainted by the world's control. My brother, those were happy days, When thou and I were children yet! How fondly memory still surveys
Those scenes, the heart can ne'er forget! My soul was then, as thine is now, Unstain'd by sin, unstung by pain; Peace smiled on each unclouded brow- Mine ne'er will be so calm again. How blithely then we hail'd the ray Which usher'd in the Sabbath day! How lightly then our footsteps trod Yon pathway to the house of God! For souls in which no dark offence Hath sullied childhood's innocence, Best meet the pure unhallow'd shrine, Which guiltier bosoms own divine.
I feel not now as then I felt ;
The sunshine of my heart is o'er; The spirit now is changed, which dwelt Within me in the days of yore.
But thou wert snatch'd, my brother, hence In all thy guileless innocence;
One Sabbath saw thee bend the knee, In reverential piety,-
(For childish faults forgiveness crave)- The next beam'd brightly on thy grave. The crowd, of which thou late wert one, Now throngs across thy burial-stone ; Rude footsteps trample on the spot, Where thou liest mouldering -not forgot;
And some few gentler bosoms weep In silence o'er thy last long sleep. I stood not by thy feverish bed,
I look'd not on thy glazing eye, Nor gently lull'd thy aching head, Nor view'd thy dying agony ! I felt not what my parents felt,-
The doubt-the terror-the distress;- Nor vainly for my brother knelt ;-
My soul was spared that wretchedness: One sentence told me, in a breath, My brother's illness and his death! And days of mourning glided by, And brought me back my gaiety; For soon in childhood's wayward heart Doth crush'd affection cease to smart. Again I join'd the sportive crowd Of boyish playmates, wild and loud; I learnt to view with careless eye My sable garb of misery ;
No more I wept my brother's lot,— His image was almost forgot; And every deeper shade of pain Had vanish'd from my soul again.
The well-known morn, I used to greet
With boyhood's joy, at length was beaming, And thoughts of home and raptures sweet In every eye but mine were gleaming; But I, amidst that youthful band
Of bounding hearts and beaming eyes, Nor smiled nor spoke at joy's command, Nor felt those wonted ecstacies! I loved my home, but trembled now To view my father's alter'd brow; I fear'd to meet my mother's eye, And hear her voice of agony; I fear'd to view my native spot, Where he who loved it now was not. The pleasures of my home were fled;- My brother slumber'd with the dead. I drew near to my father's gate; No smiling faces met me now,
I entered,- -all was desolate,
Grief sat upon my mother's brow; I heard her, as she kiss'd me, sigh; A tear stood in my father's eye; My little brothers round me press'd, In gay, unthinking childhood bless'd. Long, long, that hour has pass'd; but when Shall I forget its gloomy scene!
The Sabbath came. With mournful face I sought my brother's burial place; That shrine, which when I last had view'd, In vigour by my side he stood.
I gazed around with fearful eye:
All things reposed in sanctity.
I reach'd the chancel,-nought was changed: The altar decently arranged,
The pure white cloth above the shrine,
The consecrated bread and wine,
All was the same. I found no trace Of sorrow in that holy place.
One hurried glance I downward gave,— My foot was on my brother's grave!
And years have pass'd
Forgotten in thy silent tomb;
And cheerful is my mother's brow ; My father's eye has lost its gloom;
And years have pass'd-and death has laid Another victim by thy side;
With thee he roams, an infant shade, But not more pure than thee he died. Blest are ye both! your ashes rest Beside the spot ye loved the best; And that dear home, which saw your birth, O'erlooks you in your bed of earth. But who can tell what blissful shore Your angel-spirits wander o'er ! And who can tell what raptures high Now bless your immortality! My boyish days are nearly gone; My breast is not unsullied now; And worldly cares and woes will soon Cut their deep furrows on my brow,-
And life will take a darker hue From ills my brother never knew;
And I have made me bosom friends,
And loved, and link'd my heart with others; But who with mine his spirit blends,
As mine was blended with my brother's! When years of rapture glided by,
The spring of life's unclouded weather, Our souls were knit, and thou and I,
My brother, grew in love together. The chain is broke that bound us then ; When shall I find its like again !
THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS.
Well, thou art gone, and I am left; But oh! how cold and dark to me The world, of every charm bereft, Where all was beautiful with thee!
Though I have seen thy form depart For ever from my widow'd eye, I hold thee in mine inmost heart;
There, there, at least, thou can'st not die.
Farewell on earth; Heaven claim'd its own; Yet when from me thy presence went,
I was exchanged for God alone :
Let dust and ashes learn content.
Ha! those small voices silver-sweet! Fresh from the fields my babes appear; They fill my arms, they clasp my feet;
"Oh could your father see us here!"
For thou did'st die for me, O Son of God! By thee the throbbing flesh of man was worn; Thy naked feet the thorns of sorrow trod; And tempests beat thy houseless head forlorn. Thou, that wert wont to stand
Alone, on God's right hand,
Before the ages were, the Eternal, eldest born.
Thy birth-right in the world was pain and grief, Thy love's return, ingratitude and hate, The limbs thou healed'st brought thee no relief, The eyes thou opened'st calmly view'd thy fate : Thou, that wert wont to dwell
In peace tongue cannot tell,
Nor heart conceive the bliss of thy celestial state. They dragged thee to the Roman's solemn Hall, Where the proud Judge in purple splendour sate; Thou stood'st a meek and patient criminal, Thy doom of death from human lips to wait; Whose throne shall be the world
With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate.
Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude,
When "Crucify him!" yell'd the general shout; No hand to guard thee 'mid those insults rude, No lip to bless in all that frantic rout;
Whose lightest whispered word
The Seraphim had heard,
And adamantine arms from all the heavens broke out.
They bound thy temples with the twisted thorn, Thy bruised feet went languid on with pain; The blood, from all thy flesh with scourges torn, Deepened thy robe of mockery's crimson grain; Whose native vesture bright Was the unapproached light,
The sandal of whose foot the rapid hurricane.
hey smote thy cheek with many a ruthless palm, With many a spear thy shuddering side they pierced;
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