"I can," said Mrs. Barclay here, putting in her word at this not very civil speech. And she went on—
'The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee.'"
"Well, of course," said Mrs. Lenox. "That is true."
"Is it cheerful?" said Mrs. Barclay. "But that is not the last.—
'So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'"
"There!" Mrs. Lenox exclaimed. "What would you have, better than that?"
Lois looked at her, and said nothing. The look irritated husband and wife, in different ways; her to impatience, him to curiosity.
"Have you got anything better, Miss Lothrop?" he asked.
"You can judge. Compare that with a dying Christian's address to his soul—
'Deathless principle, arise;
Soar, thou native of the skies.
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To his glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before the throne;
Deck the mediatorial crown;
Go, his triumphs to adorn;
Made for God, to God return.'