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Of peace, among us :- - father, mother, children -
“ Hearts of each other sure," souls knit as one —
All wending in glad fellowship towards heaven.
Heaven is our bourne, and its far hope hath lighted
Upon our ocean-pathway, beacon-like,
And caught the summits of the smallest waves
That rise and sink around us, telling still
Each bears us onward on its tremulous breast

To the still haven of eternal love.

Sometimes the distant clouds have threaten'd woe,
Their shadow fallen near us, but when we
Were striving to win over our sad hearts,
Unmurmuring to resign what Heaven hath given,
Perchance some floweret from our wreath of love,
Some emerald dew-drop from a cup o'erflowing,
Then hath our God, our Father, with a smile
That told how He rejoiced in all our joy,
Return'd it to us lovelier, more beloved,
Because, for one sad voiceless moment, fear
Had chill'd our hearts lest, it should fade or fall.

Watton, 1844.

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SUFFERING for thee, sweet sister — and sharp pain —

For thee, the gentlest of earth's gentle ones?
Does the cloud gather o'er thy heart and brain

So darkly, and yet no repining tones?
Oh, hush! my own sad heart, thy faithless fears,
And quell or dry thy quick, rebellious tears.




She, as a babe upon a mother's breast,

A child within a father's sheltering arms, Unconsciously is lying ; — the unrest,

Brother, is thine - thine all those rude alarms. Still thy heart's beatings where she hers hath stilld, Believing all is best that He hath will’d.


Yet was our home so bright, so passing fair,

Some faint, dim semblance of a home above ; And she the tenderest loveliest angel there,

Around whom cluster'd all our dreams of love:

We thought that grief might never shadow long
What seem'd the fittest haunt for praise and song.


And was it but a dream ? and has the cloud

Once and again pass'd by us, threatening woe And shedding tears ? and has its darkness bowd

Our hearts once more in struggling sorrow low? And has the sunshine of affection's mirth

Pass'd ever, sleep-like, from this beautiful earth ?


Nay, check your tears, sad sisters, pause and linger,

And check, sad brother, thy wild wayward words ; Grief takes thy lyret from thee, and her finger

Sweeps somewhat rudely o'er the trembling chords. Ye must not, when beneath the cloud, forget That He, whose love is sunshine, loves ye yet.


Methinks I hear His voice of pity saying,

"Ye clung too closely to your lovely home; Your sister's spirit, dear children, is delaying,

To teach ye of a better rest to come: Where grief is not nor sighing, pain nor tears, But life, light, love, for everlasting years."

Watton, 1846.




OH, tread lightly - she is weary,

She hath suffer'd all day through,
And the night is somewhat dreary

If she wake and suffer too:

Silently the stars are keeping

Their sweet vigils o'er her,
And she dreams not in her sleeping

That to-morrow is before her.


Break it not, that spell of slumber,

Waveless, beautiful as heaven, ’Mid the sharp gusts without number,

And the clouds, of tempests driven. Weep not, sister ; sister, cheer thee;

Yet she will not hear thee weep: She is weary, very weary,

Only let her sleep.


I could fancy, gazing on her,

She had pass'd her night of sighs ; And that heaven's own light upon her,

Waits to greet her opening eyes. Silence on each word of sorrow,

On a thought that would repine;

For there shall be such a morrow,

And for thee, sweet sister mine.


Ah! I know it, that reposing

'Tis her Father bade it come

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