He held the grave to be a calm, safe anchorage for the shattered hulls of men,--the portal through which the spirit passes to God who gave it. Concerning this subject there are a few lines from his pen so applicable in this connection, that we cannot refrain from transcribing them here. In common with those pieces which we have already given the reader, there is no effort at grandeur in the piece; the beauty and propriety of the poem is undisguised by metaphor, being put down in the tender and persuasive language of a Christian heart, pleading for the good of man, and the honor of its Maker. Mr. Ballou's poetical productions are such an index of his soul, his real character, that we are induced again to refer to the fact. They are ever like himself, simple, yet forcible, and never without a purpose, and most incontrovertible argument, expressed or implied. The following poem was written in his seventy-third year, and is entitled FEAR NOT DEATH. "Why call we death to man a foe? Why should we fear to die? Does heavenly wisdom teach us so? Let us the question try. Is he of independent might? Does he himself sustain? These questions if we answer right, Will make our subject plain. See ye his scythe, his dart, his spear? Who placed them in his hand? Know this, and give the winds your fear; Dauntless before him stand. Death is a messenger of God, And God is love, we know; Nothing can come from him but good,-- No enmity can flow. Death only comes when he is sent, Commissioned from on high; And all his weapons, too, are lent,-- Why fear we, then, to die? Death comes, a friend to mortal man, To set his spirit free; Nor he, nor any creature, can Reverse the blest decree. Had death on us an evil eye, Would he our pains remove, And set our spirits free to fly To peaceful realms above? Teach not your children, parents dear, To dread what God may send; Nor fill their tender hearts with fear Of Him who is their friend." There is a lesson here that it would be well for us to remember, a principle that should be planted and nurtured in our breasts. Death has been too long looked upon as "the great enemy of our race," while it is in truth but the calling home of the spirit by the Great Shepherd. 'Tis but the wedding of the soul with Paradise, the starting post for heaven. These were the sentiments entertained by Mr. Ballou, and which governed his mind even to the last.