ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 311 With silence only as their benediction Where in the shadow of a great affliction Yet would I say what thy own heart approveth: Calling to him, the dear one whom he loveth, Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel 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. And she is with thee. In thy path of trial Still with the baptism of thy self-denial 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 peas ants Thy call abide; And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, Shall glean beside! THE TWO ANGELS. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, smoke. Their attitude and aspect were the same, Alike their features and their robes of white; But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. I saw them pause on their celestial way; Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed: "Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray The place where thy beloved are at rest!” THE TWO ANGELS. And he who wore the crown of asphodels, 313 Descending, at my door began to knock, And my soul sank within me, as in wells The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. I recognized the nameless agony, The terror and the tremor and the pain, That oft before had filled and haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice, And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best, Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and, with voice divine, Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, All is of God! If he but wave his hand, The mists collect, the rain falls thick and louc Till with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are his; Without his leave, they pass no threshold o'er Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, Against his messengers to shut the door? FOLLEN. 66 ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE FUTURE STATE.” J. G. WHITTIER. FRIEND of my soul!—as with moist eye That presence seems before me now, A placid heaven of sweet moonrise, When, dew-like, on the earth below Descends the quiet of the skies; FOLLEN. The calm brow through the parted hair, Ah me! at times that last dread scene Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea Will cast its shade of doubt between The failing eyes of Faith, and thee. Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page, Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth, Lifting the Future's solemn veil, The reaching of a mortal hand To put aside the cold and pale Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land! In thoughts which answer to my own, The waves which lull thy body's rest, 315 |