ΤΟ His starry host had led, Thou saidst, how sadly and how oft To that prophetic eye, Visions of darkness and decline, It was a voice from other worlds, How sadly on my spirit then, The quick decline the parting sigh The slowly moving bier The lifted sod-the sculptured stone The unavailing tear!— The amaranth flowers that bloom in heaven, Entwine thy temples now; The crown that shines immortally, Is beaming on thy brow; The seraphs round the burning throne Have borne thee to thy rest, 199 200 THE STORM OF WAR. To dwell among the saints on high, The sun is set in folded clouds THE STORM OF WAR. BY J. G. C. BRAINARD. O! once was felt the storm of war! It rumbled by a widow's door,- THE STORM OF WAR. It steps upon the sleeping sea It strides from top to foaming top And yonder sailed the merchant ship- That loved the night of black'ning storm The stream that was a torrent once The sword is broken, and the spear The mother chides her truant boy, Another breeze is on the sea, And peaceful hands and happy hearts, Each star that decks it pure and bright 201 They say that in his prime, Cut him down, Not a better man was found But now he walks the streets, So forlorn, And he shakes his feeble head That it seems as if he said, The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has pressed In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. THE LAST LEAF. My grandmama has said— That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin And a crook is in his back, And a melancholy crack I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here, But the old three cornered hat, And the breeches and all that Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring Let them smile as I do now At the old forsaken bough, Where I cling. 203 O. W. H. |