And where art thou going, soul of nine?
Canst see the end?

And whither this troubled life of thine
Evermore doth tend?

What daunts thee now ?-what shakes thee so?
My sad soul say.

"I see a cloud like a curtain low

Hang o'er my way.

"Whither I go I cannot tell:
That cloud hangs black,

High as the heaven and deep as hell,
Across my track.

“I see its shadow coldly enwrap The souls before.

Sadly they enter it, step by step,

To return no more.

"They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel, To thee in prayer.

They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel
That it still is there.

"In vain they turn from the dread Before
To the Known and Gone;

For while gazing behind them evermore
Their feet glide on.

"Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces

A light begin

To tremble, as if from holy places

And shrines within.

"And at times methinks their cold lips move With hymn and prayer,

As if somewhat of awe, but more of love

And hope were there.

"I call on the souls who have left the light

To reveal their lot;

I bend mine ear to that wall of night,
And they answer not.

But I hear around me sighs of pain

And the cry of fear,

And a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, Each drop a tear!

"Ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day,
I am moving thither:

I must pass beneath it on my way-
God pity me!-WHITHER?"

Ah, soul of mine! so brave and wise
In the life-storm loud,
Fronting so calmly all human eyes
In the sunlit crowd!

Now standing apart with God and me
Thou art weakness all,
Gazing vainly after the things to be
Through Death's dread wall.

But never for this, never for this
Was thy being lent;

For the craven's fear is but selfishness,
Like his merriment.

Folly and Fear are sisters twain :
One closing her eyes,

The other peopling the dark inane

With spectral lies.

Know well, my soul, God's hand controls

Whate'er thou fearest;

Round Him in calmest music rolls

Whate'er thou hearest.

What to thee is shadow, to Him is day,
And the end He knoweth,

And not on a blind and aimless way
The spirit goeth.

Man sees no future-a phantom show
Is alone before him;

Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow,
And flowers bloom o'er him.

Nothing before, nothing behind:
The steps of Faith

Fall on the seeming void, and find
The rock beneath.

The Present, the Present is all thou hast
For thy sure possessing;

Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast
Till it gives its blessing.

Why fear the night? why shrink from Death,
That phantom wan?

There is nothing in Heaven or earth beneath Save God and man.

Peopling the shadows we turn from Him
And from one another;
All is spectral and vague and dim
Save God and our brother!

Like warp and woof all destinies

Are woven fast,

Linked in sympathy like the keys
Of an organ vast.

Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar;
Break but one

Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar
Through all will run.

Oh, restless spirit! wherefore strain
Beyond thy sphere ?-

Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain,
Are now and here.

Back to thyself is measured well
All thou hast given;

Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell,
His bliss, thy heaven.

And in life, in death, in dark and light,
All are in God's care;

Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night,
And He is there!

All which is real now remaineth,
And fadeth never:

The hand which upholds it now, sustaineth

The soul forever.

Leaning on him, make with reverent meekness

His own thy will,

[ness

And with strength from Him shall thy utter weak

Life's task fulfil;

And that cloud itself, which now before thee
Lies dark in view,

Shall with beams of light from the inner glory
Be stricken through.

And like meadow mist through Autumn's dawi
Uprolling thin,

Its thickest folds when about thee drawn

Let sunlight in.

Then of what is to be, and of what is done,
Why queriest thou ?—

The past and the time to be are one,

And both are Now !

TO A FRIEND,

ON HER RETURN FROM EUROPE.

How smiled the land of France
Under thy blue eye's glance,
Light-hearted rover!

Old walls of chateaux gray,
Towers of an early day,
Which the Three Colors play
Flauntingly over.

Now midst the brilliant train
Thronging the banks of Seine:
Now midst the splendor

Of the wild Alpine range,
Waking with change on change
Thoughts in thy young heart strange,
Lovely, and tender.

Vales, soft Elysian,

Like those in the vision

Of Mirza, when, dreaming,

He saw the long hollow dell,

Touched by the prophet's spell,
Into an ocean swell

With its isles teeming.

Cliffs wrapped in snows of years,
Splintering with icy spears

Autumn's blue heaven:

Loose rock and frozen slide,
Hung on the mountain side,
Waiting their hour to glide

Downward storm-driven.!