Poor fragments of a Nation wrecked-- Its story whelmed in Time's neglect-- We drift unheeded on the wave, If God refuse the lost to save. Yet though we name no Fatherland-- And though we clasp no kindred hand-- Though houseless, homeless wanderers we-- Oh give us Hope, and Heaven with Thee! Inscription for a Rural Cemetery. Peace to the dead! The forest weaves, Around your couch, its shroud of leaves; While shadows dim and silence deep, Bespeak the quiet of your sleep. Rest, pilgrim, here! Your journey o'er, Life's weary cares ye heed no more; Time's sun has set, in yonder west-- Your work is done--rest, Pilgrim, rest! Rest till the morning hour; wait Here, at Eternity's dread gate, Safe in the keeping of the sod, And the sure promises of God. Dark is your home--yet round the tomb, Tokens of hope--sweet flowerets bloom; And cherished memories, soft and dear, Blest as their fragrance, linger here! We speak, yet ye are dumb! How dread This deep, stern silence of the Dead! The whispers of the Grave, severe, The listening Soul alone can hear! Song: The Robin. [Illustration: The Robin] At misty dawn, At rosy morn, The Redbreast sings alone: At twilight dim, Still, still, his hymn Hath a sad, and sorrowing tone. Another day, his song is gay, For a listening bird is near-- O ye who sorrow, come borrow, borrow, A lesson of robin here! Thoughts at Sea. Here is the boundless ocean,--there the sky, O'er-arching broad and blue-- Telling of God and heaven--how deep, how high, How glorious and true! Upon the wave there is an anthem sweet, Whispered in fear and love, Sending a solemn tribute to the feet Of Him who sits above. God of the waters! Nature owns her King! The Sea thy sceptre knows; At thy command the tempest spreads its wing, Or folds it to repose. And when the whirlwind hath gone rushing by, Obedient to thy will, What reverence sits upon the wave and sky, Humbled, subdued, and still! Oh! let my soul, like this submissive sea, With peace upon its breast, By the deep influence of thy Spirit be Holy and hushed to rest. And as the gladdening sun lights up the morn, Bidding the storm depart, So may the Sun of Righteousness adorn, With love, my shadowed heart. A Burial at Sea. [Illustration: Burial at Sea] The shore hath blent with the distant skies, O'er the bend of the crested seas, And the leaning ship in her pathway flies, On the sweep of the freshened breeze. Swift be its flight! for a dying guest It bears across the billow, And she fondly sighs in her native West To find a peaceful pillow.