And I with hovering wing elate,
The bursting of thy bands shall wait,
And breathe the welcome of the sky,-
"No more to part, no more to die,"
Co-heir of Immortality.

THE SOUL'S FAREWELL.

BY MISS H. F. GOULD.

Ir must be so, poor, fading, mortal thing! And now we part, thou pallid form of clay; Thy hold is broke-I can unfurl my wing, And from the dust the spirit must away

As thou at night hast thrown thy vesture by, Tired with the day, to seek thy wonted rest, Fatigued with time's vain sound, 'tis thus that I

Of thee, frail covering, myself divest.

Thou know'st, while journeying in this thorny road,

How oft we've sigh'd and struggled to be twain;

How I have long'd to drop my earthly load,

And thou to rest thee from thy toil and pain.

Then he who severs our mysterious tie
Is a kind angel, granting each release;
He'll seal thy quivering lip and sunken eye,
And stamp thy brow with everlasting peace.

When thou hast lost the beauty that I gave, And life's gay scenes no more will give thee place,

Thou may'st retire within the secret grave, Where none shall look upon thine alter'd face.

But I am summon'd to the eternal throne, To meet the presence of the King most high;

I go to stand, unshrouded, and alone,

Full in the light of God's all-searching eye.

There must the deeds which we together wrought,

Be all remember'd-each a witness made; The outward action, and the secret thought, Before the silent soul must there be weigh'd.

Lo! I behold the seraph throng descend

Fo waft me up where love and mercy dwell, Away, vain fears! the Judge will be my friend,

It is my Father calls-pale clay, farewell!

THE POOR MAN'S DEATH-BED.

BY CAROLINE BOWLES.

TREAD Softly! bow the head-
In reverend silence bow!
No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Stranger! how great soe'er,
With lowly reverence bow!
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that wretched bed,

Greater than thou.

Beneath that pauper's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter-no crowds attend-

Enter-no guards defend

His palace-gate.

That pavement damp and cold,
No whispering courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Chafing with pale thin hands
A dying head.

No busy murmurs sound,
An infant wail alone

A sob suppress'd-again

That short, deep gasp-and then
The parting groan!

Oh, change!-oh wondrous change!
Burst are the prison bars!

This moment there-so low
In mortal pangs-and now

Beyond the stars.

Oh, change!-stupendous change!
There lies the senseless clod;
The soul from bondage breaks,
The new immortal wakes-

Wakes with his God!

THE PARTED SPIRIT.

BY JOHN MALCOMB.

"Ye cannot tell whence it cometh, or whither it goeth."

MYSTERIOUS in its birth,

And viewless as the blast;
Where hath the spirit fled,
Forever past?

I ask the grave below-
It keeps the secret well;

I call upon the heavens to show-
They will not tell.

Of earth's remotest strand,

Are tales and tidings known;

But from the spirit's distant land,
Returneth none.

Winds waft the breath of flowers,
To wanderers o'er the wave,

But bear no message from the bowers
Beyond the grave.

Proud science scales the skies-
From star to star doth roam,

But reacheth not the shore where lies
The spirit's home.

Impervious shadows hide

This mystery of Heaven;

But where all knowledge is denied,
To hope is given.