Yes, they are more our own, Since now they are God's only; And each one that has gone Has left one heart less lonely. He mourns not seasons fled, Who now in Him possesses Treasures of many dead In their dear Lord's caresses. Dear dead! they have become Like guardian angels to us; And distant Heaven like home, Through them begins to woo us; Love that was earthly, wings Its flight to holier places; The dead are sacred things That multiply our graces. They whom we loved on earth Attract us now to Heaven; Who shared our grief and mirth Back to us now are given. They move with noiseless foot Gravely and sweetly round us, And their soft touch hath cut Full many a chain that bound us. O dearest dead! to Heaven With grudging sighs we gave you; To Him--be doubts forgiven! Who took you there to save you:-- Now get us grace to love Your memories yet more kindly, Pine for our homes above And trust to God more blindly. THE HOLY SOULS. WRITTEN FOR MUSIC BY THE AUTHOR OF "CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS AND SCHOLARS." O Mary, help of sorrowing hearts, Look down with pitying eye Where souls the spouses of thy Son, In fiery torments lie; Far from the presence of their Lord The purging debt they pay, In prisons through whose gloomy shades There shines no cheering ray. The fire of love is in their hearts, Its flame burns fierce and keen; They languish for His Blessed Face, For one brief moment seen; Prisoners of hope, their joy is there To wait His Holy Will, And, patient in the cleansing flames, Their penance to fulfil. But dark the gloom where smile of thine, Sweet Mother, may not fall, Oh, hear us, when for these dear souls Thy loving aid we call! Thou art the star whose gentle beam Sheds joy upon the night, Oh, let its shining pierce their gloom And give them peace and light. The sprinkling of the Precious Blood From thy dear hand must come, Quench with its drops their cruel flames, And call them to their home; Freed from their pains, and safe with thee, In Jesu's presence blest, Oh, may the dead in Christ receive Eternal light and rest! THE PALMER'S ROSARY. ELIZA ALLEN STARR. No coral beads on costly chain of gold The Palmer's pious lips at Vespers told; No guards of art could Pilgrim's favor win, Who only craved release from earth and sin. He from the Holy Land his rosary brought; From sacred olive wood each bead was wrought, Whose grain was nurtured, ages long ago, By blood the Saviour sweated in His woe; Then on the Holy Sepulchre was laid This crown of roses from His passion made; The Sepulchre from which the Lord of all Arose from death's dark bed and icy thrall.