Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

GOD'S ACRE.

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls;
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts

Comfort to thoes who in the grave have Sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,

Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth ;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed
on earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,

And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God,

This is the place where human harvests

grow!

TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

RIVER! that in silence windest

Through the meadows, bright and free,

Till at length thy rest thou findest

In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,

I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Many a lesson, deep and long; Thou hast been a generous giver ;

I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness

I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,

I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,

Nor because thy waves of blue

From celestial seas above thee

Take their own celestial hue.