But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung, That old psalm tune hath still A pulse of power beyond them all My inmost soul to thrill. Those halting tones that sound to you, Are not the tones I hear; But voices of the loved and lost There meet my longing ear. I hear my angel mother's voice,-- Those were the words she sung; I hear my brother's ringing tones, As once on earth they rung; And friends that walk in white above Come round me like a cloud, And far above those earthly notes Their singing sounds aloud. There may be discord, as you say; Those voices poorly ring; But there's no discord in the strain Those upper spirits sing. For they who sing are of the blest, The calm and glorified, Whose hours are one eternal rest On heaven's sweet floating tide. Their life is music and accord; Their souls and hearts keep time In one sweet concert with the Lord,-- One concert vast, sublime. And through the hymns they sang on earth Sometimes a sweetness falls On those they loved and left below, And softly homeward calls,-- Bells from our own dear fatherland, Borne trembling o'er the sea,-- The narrow sea that they have crossed, The shores where we shall be. O sing, sing on, beloved souls! Sing cares and griefs to rest; Sing, till entrancéd we arise To join you 'mong the blest. THE OTHER WORLD. IT lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Amid our worldly cares, Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard. The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, So near to press they seem, They lull us gently to our rest, They melt into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be;-- To close the eye, and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And, gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that--from this,-- Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still; Press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helpings glide. Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream. MARY AT THE CROSS.