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The shades of night'were falling fast,
His brow was sad ; his eye beneath,
In happy homes he saw the light
• Try not the Pass !' the old man said;'
• O stay,' the maiden said, “and rest Thy weary
upon this breast!' A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh,
• Beware the pine-tree's withered branch !
ied, far up the height,
At break of day, as heavenward
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
There in the twilight, cold and gray,
I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each
grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place, where human harvests grow!
THE RAINY DAY.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ;
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Some days must be dark and dreary.