. But when they saw
The fair ancestral roof through trees afar,
Strong agony convuls'd him, and he cried,
"_Not there! Not there!_
First take me to _Her_ grave!"
And so to that secluded spot they turn'd,
Where rest the silent dead.
On the green mound,
His Mother's bed, with sobs and groans he fell,
And in his paroxysm of grief would fain
Have torn the turf-bound earth away, to reach
The mouldering coffin. Then, a flood of tears,
Heaven's blessed gift burst forth,
"Oh weep, my Son!
These gushing tears shall help to wash away
Remorseful pangs, and lurking seeds of sin.
Here, in this sacred tomb, bury the past,
And strong in heavenly trust, resolve to rise
To a new life."
Still kneeling on the sod
With hands and eyes uprais'd, he said,
"_I will!
So help me God!_"
The tear was on his cheek
Undry'd, when to the home of peace they came.
There Bertha greeted them with outstretch'd hands
And beaming brow, while the good Pastor said,
"Thy Son was dead, but is alive again."
A sweet voice answer'd,
"Lost he was, and found!
Oh, welcome home."
She would have folded him
In her embrace. But at her feet he fell,
Clasping her knees, and bowing down his head,
Till she assured him that a mother's love
Was in her heart.
"And there is joy in Heaven
Because of him, this day," the good Man said.
--His tones were tremulous, as up he rose,
"Ah, my veil'd Angel! Now I see thy face,
And hear thy voice."

* * * * *

What were the glowing thoughts
Of the meek shepherd, as alone he took
His homeward way? The joy of others flow'd
O'er his glad spirit like a refluent tide
Whose sands were gold. Had he not chosen well
His source of happiness?
There are, who mix
Pride and ambition with their services
Before the altar. Did the tinkling bells
Upon the garments of the Jewish priest
Draw down his thoughts from God?
The mitred brow,
Doth it stoop low enough to find the souls
That struggle in the pits of sin, and die?
Methinks ambitious honors might disturb
The man whose banner is the Cross of Christ,
And earth's high places shut him out of Heaven.

--Yet this serene disciple, so content
To do his Master's will, in humblest works
Of charity, had he not chosen well
His happiness?