Sin remaineth ever more; Like a wake upon the shore Soundeth ever from the chorus Of the spirits gone before us, "Ye shall meet us, ye shall greet us In the sweet homes of earth, in the places of our birth, Never more again, never more!" So they sing, and sweetly dying Faints the message of their voices, Dying like the distant murmur, when a mighty host rejoices, But the echoes are replying with a melancholy sighing Never more again! never more! Far-away Far far-away are the homes wherein they dwell, We have lost them, and it cost them Many a tear, and many a fear When God forbade their stay; But their sorrow, on the morrow Ceased in the dawning of a lighter, brighter day; And _our_ bliss shall be certain, when death's awful curtain. Drawn from the darkness of mortal life away, To happy souls revealeth what it darkly now concealeth, Yielding to the glory of heaven's eternal ray. Far far-away are the homes wherein they dwell, But we know that they are blest, and ever more at rest, And we utter from our hearts, "It is well." "May I keep them, Power?" he asked, looking up. "Do, Walter, as a remembrance of to-day." "And may I make one change, which the bishop's sermon suggested?" "By all means," said Power; and Walter, taking a pencil, added after the line "Nothing that is fair can stay," these words, which Power afterwards copied, writing at the top, "In memoriam, J.D." "Nothing that is fair can stay But while Death's sharp scythe is sweeping, We remember 'mid our weeping, That a Father-hand is keeping Every vernal bloom that falleth underneath its chilly sway. And though earthly flowers may perish There are buds His hand will cherish And the things unseen Eternal--these can never pass away; Where the angels shout Hosanna, Where the ground is dewed with manna, These remain and these await us in the homes of heaven for ay!" The lines are in Walter's desk; and he values them all the more for the tears which have fallen on them, and blurred the neatness of the fine clear handwriting. On the following Tuesday our boys saw the dead body of their friend. The face of poor Daubeny looked singularly beautiful with the placid lines of death, as all innocent faces do. It was the first time they had seen a corpse; and as Walter touched the cold cheek, and placed a spray of evergreen in the rigid hand, he was almost overpowered with an awful sense of the sad sweet mystery of death. "It is God who has taken him to Himself," said Mrs Daubeny, as she watched their emotion. "I shall not be parted from him long. He has left you each a remembrance of himself, dear boys, and you will value them, I know, for my poor child's sake, and for his widowed mother's thanks to those who loved him."