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442 LUCY HOOPER.

"It is well."
Ay, the deep words had meaning; but what grief
Had taught the lone survivors thus to count
The sum of all, and, struggling with their tears,
Write only-"It is well?"- Oh! well for her
To rest on the green earth-to lay the head 
Unwearied on its bosom, and to seek
A refuge from the coldness of the world,
Ere yet its shaft had pierced her.

"It is well."
And, oh! for us who, musing o'er that grave,
Sigh for the rest a stranger's breast hath found,
Were it not well, in the heart's hour of grief,
When Earth is dim, and all her shining streams
Discourse no more in music to our ears - 
When shadows rest upon her brightest flowers,
And the continual sorrow of the soul
Doth darken sun and moon, to dream at least
Of a still rest beneath the lowly stone - 
A calm, unbroken slumber, where the eye
Shall weep no more in sadness, and the pulse
Forget its quick, wild throbbings?

O'er that grave
Such were my musings, till a deeper truth
Broke on my mind, as the blue violet shed
Its sweetness round me, and the evening winds
Brought fragrance from afar; and then I pray'd,
In lowliness of heart, that I might bear
In faith "the heat and burden of the day,"
And never, till His purpose was fulfill'd,
And every errand He had set perform'd
In trusting patience, sigh for dreamless rest,
Nor till th' impartial pen of Truth could write
Above that quiet refuge-"It is well."

LUCY HOOPER. 443

THE OLD DAYS WE REMEMBER.

THE old days we remember,
How softly did they glide,
While all untouch'd by worldly care,
We wander'd side by side.
In those pleasant days, when the sun's last rays
Just linger'd on the hill,
Or the moon's pale light with the coming night
Shone o'er our pathway still.

The old days we remember,-
Oh! there's nothing like them now,
The glow has faded from our hearts,
The blossom from the bough;
In the chill of care, 'midst worldly air, 
Perchance we are colder grown,
For stormy weather, since we roam'd together,
The hearts of both have known.

The old days we remember,-
Oh! clearer shone the sun,
And every star look'd brighter by far,
Than they ever since have done!
On the very streams there linger'd gleams
Of light ne'er seen before,
And the running brook a music took
Our souls can hear no more!

The old days we remember,-
Oh! could we but go back
To their quiet hours, and tread once more
Their bright familiar track,
Could we picture again, what we pictured then,
Of the sunny world that lay