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TOO LATE.

USH! speak low; tread softly;
Draw the sheet aside ;—

Yes, she does look peaceful;

With that smile she died.

Yet stern want and sorrow

Even now you trace

On the wan, worn features,
Of the still white face.

Restless, helpless, hopeless,
Was her bitter part ;-

Now-how still the Violets
Lie upon her Heart!

She who toiled and laboured

For her daily bread;

See the velvet hangings

Of this stately bed.

Yes, they did forgive her;

Brought her home at last;

Strove to cover over

Their relentless past.

Ah, they would have given
Wealth, and home, and pride,

To see her just look happy
Once before she died!

They strove hard to please her,
But, when death is near,
All you know is deadened,
Hope, and joy, and fear.

And besides, one sorrow
Deeper still-one pain

Was beyond them: healing
Came to day-in vain !

If she had but lingered

Just a few hours more;

Or had this letter reached her

Just one day before!

I can almost pity

Even him to-day;

Though he let this anguish
Eat her heart away.

Yet she never blamed him:

·

One day you shall know How this sorrow happened;

It was long ago.

I have read the letter;

Many a weary year,

For one word she hungered-
There are thousands here.

If she could but hear it,

Could but understand;

See I put the letter

In her cold white hand.

Even these words, so longed for,

Do not stir her rest;

Well-I should not murmur,

For God judges best,

She needs no more pity,—

But I mourn his fate, When he hears his letter

Came a day too late.

THE REQUITAL.

OUD roared the Tempest,
Fast fell the sleet;

A little Child Angel

Passed down the street,

With trailing pinions,

And weary feet.

The moon was hidden;

No stars were bright;

So she could not shelter

In heaven that night, For the Angels' ladders Are rays of light.

She beat her wings

At each window pane, And pleaded for shelter,

But all in vain :

"Listen," they said,

"To the pelting rain!"

She sobbed, as the laughter
And mirth grew higher,
"Give me rest and shelter
Beside your fire,

And I will give you

Your heart's desire."

The dreamer sat watching

His embers gleam,

While his heart was floating

Down hope's bright stream;

. . . So he wove her wailing

Into his dream.

The worker toiled on,

For his time was brief;

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