The everlasting mountains there Reflect undying light; The ray which gilds that ambient air, Nor fades, nor sets in night. Then summer sun more piercing bright. That beam is milder too; For love is in the sacred light That softens every hue. The gale that fans the peaceful clime Is life's immortal breath, Its freshness makes the sons of time Forget disease and death. And shall we tread that holy ground, And breathe that fragrant air; And view the fields with glory crowned In cloudless beauty fair? * * * * * Look up! look up, to yonder light, That cheers the desert grey: It marks the close of toil and night, The dawn of endless day. How sweet your choral hymns will blend With harps of heavenly tone; When glad you sing your journey's end Around your Father's throne. Mary's contributions to "The Philosophy of the Seasons," over the signature of M. L. D., such as "The Rose," "The Bat," "Sabbath Morning," an "Autumnal Sabbath Evening," are simple and elegant, indicating the possession of good sense and a refined imagination. Like her brother Archibald Lundie, who went to the South Sea Islands in order to benefit his health, and to labor in the sublime work of Christian missions, Mary passed away in the morning of her days, but not without leaving a blessed fragrance behind her, which yet lingers, not over Scotland alone, but over the whole Christian world. And well might her stricken yet resigned and hopeful mother say, in the words quoted at the close of her daughter's _Memoir_: "I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starred With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul; Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred, Nor thy heart be flung back from its gaol: I know thou hast drank of the Lethe that flows Through a land where they do not forget; That sheds over memory only repose; And takes from it only regret. "And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb, I am wrapt in a mantle of care; Yet the grief of my bosom--oh! call it not gloom-- Is not the black grief of despair. By sorrow revealed, as the stars are by night, Far off thy bright vision appears; And hope like the rainbow, a creature of light, Is born like the rainbow--in tears." _J. K. Hervey._