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There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night ; And grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,

Though life its common gifts deny,— Though with a pierced and bleeding heart, And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay

For all his children suffer here.

"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE."

WHEN he, who, from the scourge of wrong,
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,
Saw the fair region, promised long,
And bowed him on the hills to die;

God made his grave, to men unknown,
Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,

And laid the aged seer alone

To slumber while the world grows old.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just Close the dim eye on life and pain, Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust Till the pure spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
His servant's humble ashes lie,
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
To call its inmate to the sky.

A WALK AT SUNSET.

WHEN insect wings are glistening in the beam Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright, Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,

Wander amid the mild and mellow light; And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay, Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.

Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now Go'st down in glory? ever beautiful

And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou Colorest the eastern heaven and night-mist

cool,

Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high Climbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid sky.

Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues
That live among the clouds, and flush the air,

Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard

The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.

They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide,

Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won ; They deemed their quivered warrior, when he

died,

Went to bright isles beneath the setting

sun;

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