She is not dead, the child of our affection, -
But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year her tender steps pursuing
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild

In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.

And though at times impetuous with emotion.
And anguish long suppress'd,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,-

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling,
We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifying, not concealing,

The grief that must have sway.

A PASSING THOUGHT.

O WHAT a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go

To his long resting-place without a tear.

EXCELSIOR.

THE shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,

And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,

And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

'Try not the Pass!' the old man said;'
'Dark lowers the tempest overhead,

The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,

Excelsior!

'O stay,' the maiden said, 'and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!

'Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!'

This was the peasant's last Good-night, A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of St. Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device
Excelsior!

There in the twilight, cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,

And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!