THE EMPTY BIER.

BY MISS H. F. GOULD.

THOU empty bier, that standest here,
Alone by the churchyard gate;

Say whose the door thou'lt pause before,
Thy burden next to wait?

The bier replied "My range is wide,

And my hours of rest but few;

Yet, to One alone can the ways be known

That I must hence pursue.

"I first may seek her form, whose cheek

Is fresh in its maiden bloom,

On me to lie, with a rayless eye,

At the threshold of the tomb.

"The youth who last sped by so fast With the nerve and the glow of healthHe next may find that close behind Death follow'd him by stealth.

"Or she, who smiled, when the lovely child She was lately leading near,

With wonder stopp'd, and his lilies dropp'd, To gaze at the sable bier,

"That Mother may be called to lay That beauteous boy on me,

In his morning hour, like the dewy flower He lost, and as suddenly:

"Her own pale clay to bear away,

It next may be my lot;

She may close her eyes on her infant ties, And her prattler be forgot.

"As I must call, in time, for all,
From the babe to the silver-hair'd,
Thy glance at me, perchance, may be
A hint to be prepared !"

2

FRIENDSHIP WITH THE DEAD.

EYE of the Dead! thy sacred beam
Is with me, wheresoe'er I rove,

As moonlight tints the mirror'd stream
With Heaven's reflected smile of love.

I stood amid thy kindred band, Explored thy haunts of classic thought, And in thy treasured casket scann'd The polish'd gems by Genius wrought;

And still thy breath ethereal fann'd,
In that blest home, affection's flame,
While strongly from the better land
Thy pure, unearthly promptings came.

The living eye on ours may gaze,
The warm lip pour the wealth of mind,
Brow beam on brow congenial rays,
And hand in hand be firmly join'd-

But nearer, though unseen, may flit
The hovering seraph's wing serene,
And soul to soul be closer knit,
Even with this veil of flesh between,

Eye of the Dead! with guardian ray Like star amid the arch of night, Still deign to guide my pilgrim-way To realms of uncreated light.

LIFE AND DEATH.

O FEAR not thou to die!

But rather fear to live; for life Has thousand snares thy feet to try, By peril, pain, and strife.

Brief is the work of death;

But life!-the spirit shrinks to see How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, The cup of wo may be.

O fear not thou to die!

No more to suffer or to sin;
No snares without, thy faith to try,
No traitor heart within:

But fear, O! rather fear,

The gay, the light, the changeful scene The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From heaven thy heart to wean.

Fear, lest, in evil hour,

Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome,
By clouds that in the horizon lower,-
Thy spirit feel that gloom,
Which, over earth and heaven,

The covering throws of fell despair;
And deems itself the unforgiven
Predestined child of care.

O fear not thou to die!

To die, and be that blessed one, Who in the bright and beauteous sky May feel his conflict done

May feel, that never more

The tear of grief or shame shall come, For thousand wanderings from the Power Who loved, and call'd him home!

New Monthly Magazine.