THE LAST MOMENTS.
BY R. GRIFFIN STAPLES.
IT was a beauteous eve! On high,
The moon's bright silver ray,
And stars gleamed softly down, to guide
The traveller's weary way.
Gently the balmy breath of night
Sighed o'er the distant lea,
And birds their cheerful warblings hushed
With eve's serenity.
The shades of death were falling slow
Within a chamber, where
A meek one lay, and, sinking, gazed
Into a world more fair.
Sweet hour for one so pure to die,
To pass from earth away
To that bright land where naught corrupts,
And all is "perfect day."
"Father!" she breathed, "Thy will be done!"
And closed her eyes in death;
"Father!" re-echoed through the sky,
"Thy will be done on earth!"