They whom we loved on earth

Attract us now to heaven;
Who shared our grief and mirth
Back to us now are given.
They move with noiseless foot

Gravely and sweetly round us,
And their soft touch hath cut
Full many a chain that bound us.

F. W. FABER.
Hymns. (Richardson.)

REQUIESCAT.

STREW on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew!

In quiet she reposes;

Ah! would that I did too.

Her mirth the world required; She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired,

And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,

In mazes of heat and sound; But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample spirit,

It flutter'd and fail'd for breath; To-night it doth inherit

The vasty hall of death.

MATTHEW ARNOLD. Poems, Vol. I. (Macmillan.)

THUS lived, thus died she; never more on her
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth: her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful-such as had not staid
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.

LORD BYRON.

Don Juan: Canto IV.

LAY her i' the earth :

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring!

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.
Hamlet, Act V., Sc. 1.

HEAVEN keep thee:
Nevermore above the ground
Be one relic of thee found:
Lay the turf so smooth, we crave,
None would guess it was a grave,
Save for grass that greener grows,
Or for wind that gentlier blows
All the earth o'er, from this spot
Where thou wert-and thou art not.
Heaven keep thee!

Author of "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."
Thirty Years. (Macmillan.)

DIRGE.

WHAT shall we do now, Mary being dead,
Or say, or write, that shall express the half?
What can we do but pillow that fair head,
And let the spring-time write her epitaph ?

And it will soon in snowdrop, violet,

Wind-flower, and columbine, and maiden's tear,Each letter of that pretty alphabet

That spells in flowers the pageant of the year.

She was a maiden for a man to love,

She was a woman for a husband's life, One that had learn'd to value far above

The name of Love the sacred name of Wife.

Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep, Had all there is of life,-except grey hairs; Hope, love, trust, passion, and devotion deep, And that mysterious tie a Mother bears.

She hath fulfill'd her promise and hath past.
Set her down gently at the iron door!
Eyes! look on that loved image for the last :
Now cover it in earth-her earth no more!
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.

SOON and for ever!

Such promise our trust, Though ashes to ashes, And dust unto dust; Soon-and for ever

Our union. shall be Made perfect, our glorious

Redeemer, in Thee.

When the sins and the sorrows

Of time shall be o'er; Its pangs and its partings Remember'd no more; When life cannot fail,

And when death cannot sever, Christians with Christ shall be Soon-and for ever.

J. S. B. MONSELL

"EARTH to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn Priest hath said;
So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed:
But thy spirit, brother, soars away

Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest?

H. H. MILMAN. Works. Murray.)

SHALL I be left forgotten in the dust,
When Fate, relenting, lets the flowers revive?
JAMES BEATTIE.
The Minstrel.

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How shall we mourn thee? With a lofty trust,
Our life's immortal birthright from above!
With a glad faith, whose eye, to track the just,
Through shades and mysteries lifts a glance of
love,

And yet can weep !-for nature thus deplores
The friend that leaves us, though for happier shores.

F. D. HEMANS. Poetical Works.

THUS in the quiet joy of kindly trust,
We bid each parting saint a brief farewell :
Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their dust
To the safe keeping of the silent cell.
Softly within that peaceful resting-place

We lay their weary limbs; and bid the clay Press lightly on them, till the night be past, And the far east give note of coming day. HORATIUS BONAR. Hymns of Faith and Hope, First Series. (Nisbet.)

HER QUIET RESTING-PLACE.

HER quiet resting-place is far away;
None dwelling there can tell you her sad story.
The stones are mute. The stones could only say,
"A humble Spirit pass'd away to glory."

She loved the murmur of this mighty town;

The lark rejoiced her from its lattice prison; And now her grave is green-her bird has flown, Some dust is waiting-a glad Soul has risen.

No city smoke to stain the heather bells; Sigh, gentle winds, around my lone love sleeping ;

She bore her burthen here, but now she dwells Where scorner cannot come, and none are weeping.

My name was falter'd with her parting breath; These arms were round my Darling at the latest. All scenes of death are woe, but painful death

In those we dearly love is woe the greatest.

I could not die HE will'd it otherwise;
My lot is here, and sorrow, wearing older,
Weighs down the heart, but does not fill the eyes,—
Even my friends may think that I am colder.

But when at times I steal away from these,
To find her Grave, and pray to be forgiven,
And when I watch beside her on my knees,
I think I am a little nearer Heaven.

FREDERICK LOCKER.
London Lyrics. (K. Paul.)

"NUMBERED WITH THY SAINTS, IN GLORY EVERLASTING."

"Her Sun is gone down while it was yet day."-JER. xv. 9.
IN early morn, long ere the noontide heat,
While hope, returning, seemed her path to crown,
And gladden her young life with visions sweet;
Her Sun went gently down!

No lingering hours of pain, no slow decay,
No pangs of sharp disease, no weary strife,
No bitter suffering as she passed away
From death to endless life.

Yet tears will fall beside that quiet grave,
And hearts seem breaking with the sense of loss.
O, Man of Sorrows! who didst come to save,
Lead us to Thy dear Cross;

Show us Thy tomb, within the garden ground, Thine empty tomb, Thou Victor in the strife, And pour Thine Easter sunlight all around, Dear Lord of light and life.

She is not dead, for death Thou hast destroyed,
She sleeps in Thee, her short course swiftly o'er,
Then, risen Jesus! fill each aching void,
And bid us weep no more.

Lift up our hearts where our Beloved has gone,
And all in Thy dear mercy safely bring
Where she is waiting for the Easter dawn,
And coming of the King!

R. H. BAYNES.