TO MY FRIEND.

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Like some gray rock from which the waves are tossed!

Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not The faith of one whose walk and word were right

Who tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought,
And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught
A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white:
Prompt to redress another's wrong, his own
Leaving to Time and Truth and Penitence alone

II.

Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan,
A true and brave and downright honest man -
He blew no trumpet in the market-place,
Nor in the church with hypocritic face

Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace;
Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will

What others talked of while their hands were still :
And, while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried,
Who, in the poor, their Master crucified,
His daily prayer, far better understood

In acts than words, was simply DOING GOOD.
So calm, so constant was his rectitude,

That, by his loss alone we know its worth,

And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth.

Sixth month 6th, 1846.

TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER.6

THINE is a grief, the depth of which another
May never know;

Yet, o'er the waters, O, my stricken brother!
To thee I go.

I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding
Thy hand in mine;

With even the weakness of my soul upholding
The strength of thine.

I never knew, like thee, the dear departed;
I stood not by

When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted
Lay down to die.

And on thy ears my words of weak condoling
Must vainly fall:

The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling,
Sounds over all!

I will not mock thee with the poor world's common
And heartless phrase,

Nor

of a sainted woman

wrong the memory
With idle praise.

With silence only as their benediction,
God's angels come

Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,
The soul sits dumb!

Yet, would I say what thy own heart approveth :
Our Father's will,

Calling to Him the dear one whom He loveth,
Is mercy still.

Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel
Hath evil wrought:

Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel―
The good die not!

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly
What He hath given;

They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in his heaven.

GONE.

And she is with thee; in thy path of trial
She walketh yet;

Still with the baptism of thy self-denial
Her locks are wet.

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Up, then, my brother!

Lo, the fields of harvest

Lie white in view!

She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest To both is true.

Thrust in thy sickle!-England's toil-worn peasants Thy call abide;

And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, Shall glean beside !

GONE.

ANOTHER hand is beckoning us,
Another call is given;

And glows once more with Angel-steps
The path which reaches Heaven.

Our young and gentle friend whose smile
Made brighter summer hours,

Amid the frosts of autumn time
Has left us with the flowers.

No paling of the cheek of bloom
Forewarned us of decay;
No shadow from the Silent Land
Fell round our sister's way.

The light of her young life went down,
As sinks behind the hill

The glory of a setting star

Clear, suddenly, and still.

As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed
Eternal as the sky

And like the brook's low song, her voice-
A sound which could not die.

And half we deemed she needed not
The changing of her sphere,
To give to Heaven a Shining One,
Who walked an Angel here.

The blessing of her quiet life
Fell on us like the dew;

And good thoughts, where her footsteps pressed
Like fairy blossoms grew.

Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds
Were in her very look;

We read her face, as one who reads
A true and holy book:

The measure of a blessed hymn,

To which our hearts could move The breathing of an inward psalm ; A canticle of love.

We miss her in the place of prayer,
And by the hearth-fire's light;
We pause beside her door to hear
Once more her sweet "Good night 】

There seems a shadow on the day,
Her smile no longer cheers;
A dimness on the stars of night,
Like eyes that look through tears.

Alone unto our Father's will

One thought hath reconciled;

That He whose love exceedeth ours
Hath taken home his child.

THE LAKE-SIDE.

Fold her, oh Father! in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between

Our human hearts and Thee.

Still let her mild rebuking stand
Between us and the wrong,
And her dear memory serve to make
Our faith in Goodness strong.

And grant that she who, trembling, here
Distrusted all her powers,
May welcome to her holier home
The well beloved of ours.

THE LAKE-SIDE.

THE shadows round the inland sea
Are deepening into night
Slow up the slopes of Ossipee
They chase the lessening light.
Tired of the long day's blinding heat,
I rest my languid eye,

Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet,
Thy sunset waters lie!

Along the sky, in wavy lines,

O'er isle and reach and bay,
Green-belted with eternal pines,
The mountains stretch away.
Below, the maple masses sleep
Where shore with water blends,
While midway on the tranquil deep
The evening light descends.

So seemed it when yon hill's red crown,
Of old, the Indian trod,

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