And the merchant looked from his mansion fair,
Over the ocean, with troubled air;
And thought of his treasures, in one short night
Whelmed in the deep by the tempest's might;--
Ah,--I knew by that pale brow's deepening gloom,
That he owned no treasure beyond the tomb.
Day fretted the east with its stormy gold,
Creeping slow through a casement old,
And stealing sadly with faint, cold ray
Into the hut where the old man lay.
White and still was the scattered hair,
And the hands were crossed with a reverent air;--
Calm and stirless the eyelids lay,
Pale as marble and cold as clay,
But the lips were tenderly wreathed, the while,
With the beautiful light of a saintly smile;
And I knew he had passed from that desolate room
To a fadeless treasure beyond the tomb.
PALMER.
THREE YEARS OLD.
A light departed from the hearth of home,
Leaving a shadow where its radiance shone,--
A flower just bursting into life and bloom,
Lopped from its stem, the bower left sad and lone,--
A golden link dropped from love's precious chain,--
Gem from affection's sacred casket riven,--
Of music's richest tones a missing strain,--
A bird-note hushed in the blue summer heaven!
That light is gathered to its Source again,
Though long its radiance will be missed on earth,
That flower, transplanted to a sunnier plain,
Bloometh immortal where no blight has birth;
That missing link gleams in Love's chain above,--
That lost gem sparkles on the Saviour's breast,--
That music-uttrance, tuned to holier love,
Swells richly 'mid the anthems of the blest.
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