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310 LYDIA JANE PEIRSON. And spotted fawns, in mossy nook, Have closed their wild, bright eyes;— While from the giant tree, And fairy of the sod, A dreamy wind-harp melody Speaks to the soul of God; Whose beauteous gifts of love The passing hours unfold, Till e'en the sombre hemlock boughs Are tipped with fringe of gold. Come, when the sun is set, And see along the west Heaven's glory, streaming through the gate By which he pass'd to rest. While brooklets, as the flow Beneath the cool sweet bowers, Sing fairy legends, soft and low, To groups of listening flowers; And creeping formless shades Make distance strange and dim, And with the daylight softly fades The wild bird's evening hymn. Come, when the woods are dark, And winds go fluttering by, While here and there a phantom bark Floats in the deep blue sky; While gleaming far away Beyond th' aerial flood, Lies in its starry majesty The city of our God. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON. 311 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN. How beautiful she lies, upon her pure white bed, While pale flowers o'er her brow a holy incense shed; The eyelids tremble not, so peaceful is her rest, That even her maiden heart lies silent in her breast. Why o'er the sweet calm face, fond mother, dost thou weep? Wouldst thou awake thy child from such a quiet sleep? She is asleep with Him whose love alone is pure, Within whose presence bliss shall evermore endure. No grief, no care, no pain, can ever pierce her heart, No loved voice say again, "sweet sister, we must part!" The living waters sweet have quench'd her spirit's thirst, And on her soul the light of Holiness has burst. Why weep we then for her whose days of pain are o'er? Bright hands have wiped her tears, and she shall shed no more. To agony and tears the brides of earth are given— Oh! bless her, as she lies, the pure young bride of Heaven. SUNSET IN THE FOREST. Come now unto the Forest, and enjoy The loveliness of nature. Look abroad And note the tender beauty and repose Of the magnificent, in earth and sky. See what a radiant smile of golden light O'erspreads the face of heaven; while the west Burns like a living ruby, in the ring Of the deep green horizon. Now the shades Are deepening round the feet of the tall trees, Bending the head of the pale blossoms down Upon their mother's bosom, where the breeze Comes with a low sweet hymn and balmy kiss,