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GOD AND HEAVEN.
The golden bowl is broken,
The words funereal spoken;
Or delved is the grassy clod;
O what is left-but God?
The flowers they wore are faded ;
And hope's sweet dreaming shaded; And the thoughts of joy that were planted deep,
From our heart of hearts are riven; And what is left us when we weep
O what is left-but Heaven ?
THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST.
One where a thousand stood ;
Last of the solemn wood !
Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs,
With leaves so darkly green? Silence is round, and noontide glows;
Tell us what thou hast seen ?
I've seen the forest shadows lie
Where now men reap the corn,
Through the deep glades at morn.
• With the glance of many a gallant spear,
And the wave of many a plume, And the bounding of a hundred deer,
It has lit the woodland's gloom.
"I have seen the knight and his train ride past,
With his banner borne on high; O'er all my leaves there was brightness cast
From his gleaming panoply.
.The pilgrim at my feet hath laid,
His palm branch 'mid the flowers, And told his beads, and meekly prayed,
Kneeling at Vesper hours.
. And the merry men of wild and glen,
In the green array they wore, Have feasted here, with the red wine's cheer,
And the hunter songs of yore.
And the minstrel, resting in my shade,
Hath made the forest ring With the lordly tales of the high crusade,
Once loved by chief and king.
• But now the noble forms are gone;
That walked the earth of old, The soft wind hath a mournful tone,
The sunny light looks cold.
Like the glory with the dead;
My latest leaves were shed.'
Thou mournest for the past;
Embowered from every blast.
A lovely and a mirthful sound
Of laughter meets my ear;
On the turf, and nought to fear.
That stirs thy leaf, dark tree:
For the stormy past with thee?
But one dead lamb is there;
But has one vacant chair.
And mournings for the dead,
Will not be comforted.
Not from the ground arise,
Assume this dark disguise.
but dimly through the mists and vapors Amid these earthly damps; What seem to us but dim funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
This life of mortal breath
Whose portals we call death.
But gone into that school, Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
She lives—whom we call dead.
In those bright realms of air,
Behold her grown more fair.
And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean
That cannot be at rest,
We will be patient! and assuage the feeling
We cannot wholly stay,
The grief that must have way.
THE FALLING LEAF.
rmans, As the light leaf whose fall to ruin bears Some trembling insect's little world of cares, Descends in silence, while around waves on The mighty forest, reckless what is gone! Such is man's doom—and ere an hour be flown Reflect, thou trifler, such may be thine own.