My spirit and my eye

Seek it inquiringly,

Before the thought comes that he is not there!

When, at the cool, gray break

Of day, from sleep I wake,

With my first breathing of the morning air

My soul goes up, with joy,

To Him who gave my boy,

Then comes the sad thought that he is not there!

When at the day's calm close,
Before we seek repose,

I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer,
Whate'er I may be saying,

I am, in spirit, praying

For our boy's spirit, though-he is not there!

Not there! Where, then, is he?

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear;
The grave, that now doth press

Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe lock'd ;-he is not there!

He lives! In all the past

He lives; nor, to the last,

Of seeing him again will I despair;

In dreams I see him now;

And, on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!”

Yes, we all live to God!
Father, thy chastening rod

So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,

That, in the spirit-land,

Meeting at thy right hand,

'Twill be our heaven to find that-he is there!

JOHN PIERPONT.

66

'WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME."

WHEN the grass shall cover me,
Head to foot, where I am lying;
When not any wind that blows,
Summer blooms or winter snows,
Shall wake me to your sighing ;
Close above me as you pass,
You will say, "How kind she was,"
You will say,
How true she was,"

66

When the grass grows over me.

When the grass shall cover me,

Holden close to Earth's warm bosom ;
While I laugh, or weep, or sing

Nevermore for anything;

You will find in blade and blossom,

Sweet, small voices, odorous,
Tender pleaders in my cause,
That shall speak me as I was-
When the grass grows over me.

When the grass shall cover me !
Ah, beloved, in my sorrow
Very patient, I can wait—
Knowing that or soon or late,
There will dawn a clearer morrow;
When your heart will moan, “Alas!
Now I know how true she was;
Now I know how dear she was
When the grass grows over me.

MY CREED.

INA D. COOLBRITH.

I HOLD that Christian grace abounds,
Where charity is seen; that when
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds
Of love to men.

I hold all else, named piety,

A selfish scheme, a vain pretence; Where centre is not, can there be Circumference ?

This I moreover hold and dare

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go : Whatever things be sweet or fair,

Love makes them so.

Whether it be the sickle's rush

Through wheat fields, or the fall of showers,

Or by some cabin door a bush

Of rugged flowers.

'Tis not the wide phylactery,

Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers,
That makes us saints; we judge the tree
By what it bears.

And when a man can live apart
From works, on theologic trust,
I know the blood about his heart
Is dry as dust.

ALICE CAREY.

NEARER HOME.

ONE Sweetly welcome thought,
Comes to me o'er and o'er;

I'm nearer home to-day

Than I've ever been before;

Nearer my Father's house

Where the many mansions be;

Nearer the Great White Throne,
Nearer the Jasper Sea;

Nearer that bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down,—

Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer gaining the crown.

But lying dimly between,

Winding down through the night,
Lies the dark and uncertain stream

That leads us at length to the light.

Closer and closer my steps

Come to the dark abysm,
Closer Death to my lips

Presses the awful chrism;

Father, perfect my trust!

Strengthen my feeble faith!

Let me feel as I shall, when I stand
On the shores of the river of death :-

Feel as I would, were my feet

Even now slipping over the brink,--
For it may be I am nearer home,

Nearer now, than I think!

PHEBE CAREY.

MARTHY VIRGINIA'S HAND.

"THERE, on the left!" said the colonel; the battle had shuddered and faded away,

Wraith of a fiery enchantment that left only ashes and blood-sprinkled clay

'Ride to the left and examine that ridge, where the enemy's sharpshooters stood.

Lord, how they picked off our men, from the treacherous vantage-ground of the wood! But for their bullets, I'll bet, my batteries sent them something as good.

Go and explore, and report to me then, and tell me how many we killed.

Never a wink shall I sleep till I know our vengeance was duly fulfilled."