That rainbow bridge in the crystal dome, O’er a swiftly flowing tide, Is the shining way to the spirit home, That lies on the other side. To man is the tempest cloud below, And the storm wind’s fatal breath, But for those who cross o’er that shining bow, There is no more pain nor death. O, fair and bright does that archway stand, Through the silent lapse of years, Fashioned and reared by no human hand, From the sunshine of love and tears. Sweet spirits, our footsteps are nearing fast The light of the shining shore; We shall cross that rainbow bridge at last, And greet you in joy once more. REST THOU IN PEACE. “And the token that the angel gave her, that he was a true messenger, was an arrow, with a point sharpened with Love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.” PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. REST thou in peace! Beneath the sheltering sod There is a lowly door, a narrow way, That leadeth to the Paradise of God; There, weary pilgrim, let thy wanderings stay. Rest thou in peace! We would not call thee back To know the grief that comes with riper years, To tread in sorrow all Life’s thorny track, And drain with us the bitter cup of tears. Rest thou in peace! With chastened hearts we bow, And pour for thee a low and solemn strain; Thy voice shall chant the hymns of Zion now, But it shall mingle not with ours again. Rest thou in peace! Not in the silent grave-- Thy spirit heard the summons from above, And blessed the token that the angel gave-- An arrow, sharpened--but with tenderest love. Rest thou in peace! With blessings on thy head, Pass to the land where sinless spirits dwell-- Gone, but not lost!--We will not call thee _dead_-- The angels claimed thee! Dear one--Fare-thee-well. ANGEL LILY. OF all the flowers that greet the light, Or open ’neath the summer’s sun, With fragrance sweet, and beauty bright, The Lily is the fairest one, And in its incense-cup there lies A perfume, as from Paradise. O, once there lived a fair, sweet child, And Lily was her gentle name; As beautiful and meekly mild, As if from Heaven’s pure life she came-- A breathing psalm, a living prayer, To make men think of worlds more fair. O, there was sunshine in her smile, And music in her dancing feet, And every tender, artless wile, Made her dear presence seem more sweet; But ever in her childish play, A strange, unfathomed mystery lay.