How analagous this to our waking day hours, Unwearied our efforts, we tax all our powers; Betimes in the morning the prize we pursue, By the pale lamp of midnight we're seeking it too; At all times and seasons, this _same fancied good_ Repels our advances, yet still is pursued, Depriving us oft, of rest needful, and food. But there's a pearl of great price, whose worth is untold, It can never he purchased with silver or gold; Great peace it confers upon all to whom given, Ever cheering their pathway, and pointing to heaven. Look not to this world for a prize of such worth, Or hope _that_ to obtain from this perishing earth Whose essence is spiritual, and heavenly its birth. Weston, June 6, 1862. ACROSTIC. Even now I seem to see thee, Lovely boy, with thy sweet smile, Bright and beautiful as when Reading that holy book, the while I listened to thee, little dreaming, Docile, gentle, pleasant child, God who gave, _so soon would take thee_, Even thee, so _sweet_, so _mild_. But how merciful in chastening Our father is--oh! bless his name-- Your little face was decked with smiles, Dear child, just when the summons came. Escaped from lingering sickness, thou hadst Nought to mar thy little frame. While ye mourn the dear departed, Each bitter feeling disallow; Look to heaven, ye broken hearted, Look, and with submission bow. In thy hour of deepest sorrow, Never murmur, dare not blame; God, who wounds, alone can heal thee; Trust his power and praise his name. Oh! may we say, _each_, every one, "Not my will, but thine be done." SHE SLUMBERS STILL. On a midsummer's eve she lay down to sleep, Wearied and toil-worn the maiden was then; How deep was that slumber, how quiet that rest, 'Twas the sleep from which no one awakens again. Morn returned in its freshness, and flowers that she loved In beauty and fragrance were blooming around; The birds caroled sweetly the whole live-long day, But that strange mystic sleep all her senses had bound. Day followed day until summer was gone, And autumn still found her alone and asleep; Stern winter soon followed, but its loud blasts and shrill, Were powerless to rouse her from slumber so deep. Again spring returns, and all nature revives, And birds fill the groves with their music again; But the eyes and the ears of that loved one are closed, And on her these rich treasures are lavished in vain. Unheeded by her the winter snow falls, Its beautiful garment spring puts on in vain; Many _summers_ the birds her sad requiem have sung, But to sound of sweet music she'll ne'er wake again. There is _but one voice_ that deep slumber can break, 'Tis the same one that loudly called, "Lazarus, come forth!" At the sound of that voice all the dead shall arise, And before God shall stand all the nations on earth. Then shall this dear one, our first born, awake, Her mortal put on immortality then; And oh! blissful thought, that we once more may meet In that home where's no parting, death, sorrow, or pain.