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WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD.
Oh, lightly, lightly tread
Of this eternal bed!
Hallow her humble tomb With your kind sorrow, ye that knew her well, And climbed with her youth's brief but brilliant dell,
'Mid sunlight and fair bloom.
Glad voices whispered round
And the wide vernal ground
With hopes like blossoms shone :
No joy — no answering tone.
Yet weep not for the dead
Upon their souls hath spread.
Weep not! They are at rest
In the grave's peaceful breast.
Nor ever more shall come To them the breath of envy, nor the rankling eye Shall follow them, where side by side they lie
Defenceless, noiseless, dumb.
Aye — though their memory's green, In the fond heart, where love for them was born, With sorrow's silent dews, each eve, each morn,
Be freshly kept, unseen —
Yet weep not! They shall soar
And the old ocean-shore.
Rejoice! rejoice! How long
And for the angel's song?
It mounts! it mounts! Oh, spread The banner of gay victory - and sing For the enfranchised - and bright garlands bring
But weep not for the dead !
I WILL REMEMBER THEE.
I will remember thee; thy form will be
Mingled with lingering images of all
When, arm and arm, we wandered where the fall
I will remember thee, with loveliest bloom
Of early roses, such as these thy hand
(Where rest thy sister's ashes, in the land Of dark and long oblivion ;) likest thee, Their bursting, blushing charms, and therefore dear to me.
I will remember thee, when woods, as now,
O’ershadow me at noontide ; and the sweet Breathings of virgin violets, as pure as thou,
No purer, from dim moss-banks of the hill-side greet Me in the weary wanderings, 'mid the trees Of mine own father-clime - to 'mind me but of these.
I'll think of thee with streamlets; and green leaves
Shall murmur of thee; and the fairest star That shines above me, as mild evening weaves
Her round pavillon in its splendor - far, But not forgotten — will I sadly choose To link with thoughts of thee, when most I love to muse. I will remember thee, in coming days,
When I may tread the stranger's lonely shore, And ponder upon old temples in the haze
Of twilight - where the mighty are no more — (Though still the soil teems richly with the pride Of buried greatness, and the skies are dyed
With hues of gone-down glory :) even then,
And there, the memory of the loveliness That cheered this solitude, may cheer again – The echo of past pleasure — and thy grace
Bless me in all things; lady, on the sea Or land, in joy or anguish, I'll remember thee !
TO A SISTER
EMBARKING ON A MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE.
Thou knowest well The work that is before thee, and the joys That are behind. Now, be the past forgot — The youthful love, the hearth-light and the home, Song, dance, and story, and the vows —
the vows That we change not, and part not unto death Yea, all the spirit of departed bliss, That even now, like spirits of the dead, Seen dimly in the living mourner's dreams, And thrilling, ever and anon, the notes Long loved of old — 0, hear them, heed them not. Press on! for, like the fairies of the tale, That mocked, unseen, the tempted traveller, With power alone o'er those who gave them ear, They would but turn thee from thy high resolve. Then look not back! O, triumph in the strength Of an exalted purpose ! Eagle-like, Press sunward on. Thou shalt not be alone. Have but an eye on God, as surely God Will have an eye on thee
press on! press on!