O fear not thou to die! Far rather fear to live, for Life Has thousand snares thy feet to try By peril, pain, and strife— Brief is the work of Death; But Life! the spirit shrinks to see How full ere Heaven recalls the breath, The cup of wo may be. O fear not thou to die! No more to suffer or to sin; No snares without thy faith to try— No traitor heart within: But fear, oh! rather fear The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here From Heaven thy heart may wean. [Illustration: PL. XLV.—PROSPECT HILL IN WATER-COLOR From Mary Peek’s Album ] O fear not thou to die! To die and be that blessed one, Who in the bright and beauteous sky May feel her conflict done,— Who feels that never more The tear of grief, of shame shall come For thousand wanderings from the Power Who loved, and called her home! SARAH PIERCE Oh often wilt thy heart be fill’d With gleeful mirth and rapture wild; But when thy youth has flown. There will be heav’nly seasons mild. When thou wilt weep alone, And make thy sorrows all thy own. Then welcome those delicious tears When the faint blush of evening wears An aspect pure and meek; And painful thoughts of brighter years Alleviation seek, In joys which only tears can speak— Oft oer thy cheeks may such “drops roll”; Oft mayst thou feel this “flow of soul” And weep in extacy;— But shouldst thou think who lov’d a stroll; In solitude; like thee; Shed half a tear to G. Y. C.— GEO Y. CUTLER THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. “They grew in beauty, side by side, They filled our house with glee— Their graves are severed far & wide, By mount, and stream, and sea! The same fond mother bent at night O’er each fair sleeping brow; She had each folded flower in sight— Where are those dreamers now? One mid’st the forest of the west By a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the cedar shade.