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A bunch o' bennets that did hide
A verse her father, as she zaïd,
Put up above her mother's head,
To tell how much he loved her.

The verse wer short, but very good,
I stood an' larned en where I stood:-
"Mid God, dear Meäry, gi'e me greäce,
To vind, lik' thee, a better pleäce,
Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feäce;
An' bring thy children up to know
His word, that they mid come an' show
Thy soul how much I loved thee."

"Where's father, then," I zaid, "my chile?"
"Dead too," she answered wi' a smile;
"An' I an' brother Jim do bide

At Betty White's, o' t'other side

O' road." "Mid He, my chile," I cried,
"That's father to the fatherless,
Become thy father now, an' bless,

An' keep, an' leäd, an' love thee.”

Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much,
Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch
Her litsome heart by day or night;
An' zoo, if we could teäke it right,
Do show He'll meäke His burdens light
To weaker souls, an' that His smile
Is sweet upon a harmless chile,
When they be dead that loved it.

William Barnes [1801-1886]

THE TWO MYSTERIES

We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still; The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and

chill;

The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and call; The strange, white solitude of peace that settles over all.

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We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart-pain;
This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again;
We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave us
go,

Nor why we're left to wonder still, nor why we do not know.

But this we know: Our loved and dead, if they should come this day

Should come and ask us, “What is life?” not one of us could

say.

Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be;

Yet, oh, how dear it is to us, this life we live and see!

Then might they say-these vanished ones—and blessed is the thought,

"So death is sweet to us, beloved! though we may show you

naught;

We may not to the quick reveal the mystery of death—
Ye cannot tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath."

The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or in

tent,

So those who enter death must go as little children sent. Nothing is known. But I believe that God is overhead; And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead.

Mary Mapes Dodge [1838-1905]

FOREVER

THOSE We love truly never die,

Though year by year the sad memorial wreath,
A ring and flowers, types of life and death,
Are laid upon their graves.

For death the pure life saves,

And life all pure is love; and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach
Than those by mortals read.

Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change-
A dear communion that will not grow strange;
The anchor of a love is death.

The blessed sweetness of a loving breath Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years. For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears, She's thine unto the end.

Thank God for one dear friend,

With face still radiant with the light of truth,
Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth,
Through twenty years of death.

John Boyle O'Reilly [1844-1890]

NOW AND AFTERWARDS

"Two hands upon the breast, and labor is past "-RUSSIAN PROVERB

Two hands upon the breast,

And labor's done;

Two pale feet crossed in rest,—

The race is won;

Two eyes with coin-weights shut,

And all tears cease,

Two lips where grief is mute,

Anger at peace;—

So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot;

God in His kindness answereth not.

Two hands to work addressed

Aye for His praise;

Two feet that never rest

Walking His ways;

Two eyes that look above

Through all their tears;

Two lips still breathing love,

Not wrath, nor fears;—

So pray we afterwards, low on our knees;

Pardon those erring prayers! Father, hear these!

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

"Now the Laborer's Task is O'er" 3345

"NOW THE LABORER'S TASK IS O'ER"

Now the laborer's task is o'er;

Now the battle day is past;

Now upon the farther shore
Lands the voyager at last.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

There the tears of earth are dried;
There its hidden things are clear;
There the work of life is tried

By a juster Judge than here..
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

There the penitents, that turn

To the cross their dying eyes,

All the love of Jesus learn

At His feet in Paradise.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

There no more the powers of hell

Can prevail to mar their peace;
Christ the Lord shall guard them well,
He who died for their release.

Father, in Thy gracious keeping
Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

"Earth to earth, and dust to dust,"
Calmly now the words we say,
Left behind, we wait in trust
For the resurrection day.
Father, in Thy gracious keeping

Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.

John Lodge Ellerton [1801-1873]

LOVE AND DEATH

ALAS! that men must see
Love, before Death!
Else they content might be
With their short breath;
Aye, glad, when the pale sun
Showed restless day was done,
And endless Rest begun.

Glad, when with strong, cool hand
Death clasped their own,
And with a strange command
Hushed every moan;

Glad to have finished pain,

And labor wrought in vain,
Blurred by Sin's deepening stain.

But Love's insistent voice

Bids self to flee

"Live that I may rejoice,

Live on, for me!"
So, for Love's cruel mind,

Men fear this Rest to find,

Nor know great Death is kind!

Margaret Deland [1857

VAN ELSEN

GOD spake three times and saved Van Elsen's soul;

He spake by sickness first and made him whole;
Van Elsen heard him not,

Or soon forgot.

God spake to him by wealth, the world outpoured

Its treasures at his feet, and called him Lord;

Van Elsen's heart grew fat

And proud thereat.

God spake the third time when the great World smiled,

And in the sunshine slew his little child;

Van Elsen like a tree

Fell hopelessly.

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