HERE at thy grave I stand,
But not in tears;
Light from a better land
Banishes fears.
Thou art beside me now,
Whispering peace;
Telling how happy thou
Found thy release!
Thou art not buried here;
Why should I mourn?
All that I cherished dear
Heavenward hath gone!
Oft from that world above
Come ye to this;
Breathing in strains of love
Unto me bliss!
POOR AND WEARY!
IN a low and cheerless cot
Sat one mourning his sad lot;
All day long he'd sought for labor;
All day long his nearest neighbor
Lived in affluence and squandered
Wealth, while he an outcast wandered,
And the night with shadowy wing
Heard him this low moaning sing:
"Sad and weary, poor and weary,
Life to me is ever dreary!"
Morning came; there was no sound
Heard within. Men gathered round,
Peering through the window-pane;
They saw a form as if 't were lain
Out for burial. Stiff and gaunt
Lay the man who died in want.
And methought I heard that day
Angel voices whispering say,
"No more sad, poor and weary,
Life to me no more is dreary!"
THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT.
"THERE! Mr. McKenzie, I declare! You are the most oncommon, oncivil man I ever sot eyes on!"
"Peace, my lady! I'll explain."
"Then do so."
"You must know, then, that I have a perfect hatred of bandboxes,—so great, in fact, that if I see one on the walk, I involuntarily raise my foot and kick it."
"So it appears," chimed in Mrs: McKenzie, with a significant hunch of the right shoulder.
"Therefore,—"