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340 MARY ANN H. DODD.

Then the peace thou shalt inherit
By the Saviour promised free;
Peace the world destroyeth never,-
Father, give that peace to me!

THE MOURNER.

"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."-Matt. v 4.

THOU weepest for a sister! In the bloom
And spring-time of her years to Death a prey,
Shrouded from love by the remorseless tomb,
Taken from all life's joys and griefs away.
'Tis hard to part with one so sudden call'd,
So young, so happy, and so dearly loved;
To see the arrow at our idol hurl'd,
And vainly pray the shaft may be removed.

Young, loving, and beloved! oh cruel Death!
Couldst thou not spare the treasure for a while?
There are warm hearts that wait to yield their breath,
And aged eyes that can no longer smile.
Why pass the weary pilgrims on their way
Bow'd down with toil, and sighing for relief;
To make the blossom in its pride thy prey,
Whose joyous heart had never tasted grief?

Sad sister, turn not hopelessly away;
Nor longer at the will of heaven repine;
Fold not thy hands in agony and say
"There is no sorrow in the world like mine."
Oh! could my numbers soothe the sinking soul,
Or one hope waken with the wreath I twine,
Soft sounds of sympathy should round thee roll
Warm from a heart that knows such pain as thine!

MARY ANN H. DODD. 341

I too, have been a mourner. Sorrow deep
Its lava-tide around my pathway roll'd;
And sable weeds a hue could never keep,
Sad as the heart they hid beneath their fold.
All joy grew dim before my tearful eye,
Which but the shadow of the grave could see;
There was no brightness in the earth or sky,
There was no sunshine in the world for me.

Oh! bitter was the draught from sorrow's cup,
And stern the anguish which my spirit wrung,
When I was call'd to give my idol up,
And bend a mourner o'er the loved and young.
And for the lost to weep is still my choice;
I ask for one whose pilgrimage is o'er,
And vainly listen for a vanish'd voice,
Whose pleasant tones shall greet my ear no more.

There is a spell around my spirit cast,
A shadow where the sunbeam smiled before;
'Tis grief, but all its bitterness is past;
'Tis sorrow, but its murmurings are o'er.
Within my soul, which to the storm was bow'd,
Now the white wing of Peace is folded deep;
And I have found, I trust, behind the cloud,
The blessing promised to the eyes that weep.

So thou wilt find relief. For deepest woe
A fount of healing in our pathway springs;
Like Lethe's stream, that silver fountain's flow
A soothing draught unto the sufferer brings
A Father chastened thee! oh, look to Him,
And his dear love in all thy trials see;
Look with the eye of faith through shadows dim,
And he will send "the Comforter" to thee.
29*

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 17:54:38