ning flower,
Stole o'er us silently: yet O, the power!
Charming our household world resplendently.

And little hearts tow'rds that sweet influence yearned;
And little voices loved to lisp her name;
For when, to them, the world was dark, she came,
Love-bright, and so their lives in beauty burned.

In beauty burned with pure and happy glow;
Their joys were her's. In thought I see her now,
Love prompted, sitting with a dreamy brow,
Planning the pleasures she might never know.

Her's was the hand that wreathed so daintily
With flow'rs each fissure Circumstance had formed,
And, by its touch, like snows by sunsets warmed,
Each rigid thought was softened rosily.

Her's was the heart, by noblest impulse moved,
That beat with earnest fondness all divine;
That filled life's cup of joy with rarest wine,
For those who proudly felt they were beloved.

But soft! God's edict 'twas, that, from above,
Laden with anguish, came with cruel blow.
'Twas Heaven's gain: the grief those only know
Who lost her just as they had learnt to love.

Ah, me: the cost to be to Heaven akin:
The harvest ripens round the Eternal gate:
The pure in soul and saintliest-hearted wait:
The Reaper comes and plucks the nearest in.

Ah, me: the cost life's fairest flower to be:
Petal and spray all elegance and grace:
Each blossom beauteous as an angel's face;
And yet, alas! the first to drop and die.

Ah, me: the cost life's tenderest chords to wake,
With sweet enchantment breaking up the air;
To know each tone will call forth many a tear:
Each tender touch a heart or spirit-ache.

Ah, me: the cost for human hearts to claim
Where God before His perfect seal had set,
Like mortals straying into Heaven unlet,
We perish gazing on celestial flame.

TO CLARA.

'Twas a short decade that thou and I
Walked hand-in-hand through the world together;
When the cruel clouds obscured our sky,
And bitter and bleak was life's daily weather.
But a brave little heart was thine--and so,
Though it might have been lighter had fortune willed it,
It battled, in boundless faith I know,
And just as the sunshine 'gan to grow
The hand of Death reached forth--and chilled it.

The blow was unkind; but Heaven knows best:
I felt that my loss was to thee a blessing;
For I knew, when I laid thee down to rest,
I was