DEATH.

Death! that struck when I was most confiding. In my certain faith of joy to be — Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity!

Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide.

Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song — Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, “Winter will not linger long!”

And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May!

High it rose — no winged grief could sweep it; Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong — from every blight but thine!

Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore — No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish- Time, for me, must never blossom more!

Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung — Eternity.