With burnish'd ivy for its screen, And moss, that glows as fresh and green Who says the widow's heart must break, A kinder truer voice I hear, Which even beside that mournful bier Whence parents' eyes would hopeless shrink, Bids weep no more-O heart bereft, How strange, to thee, that sound! A widow o'er her only son, Feeling more bitterly alone For friends that press officious round. Yet is the voice of comfort heard, For Christ hath touch'd the bierThe bearers wait with wondering eye, The swelling bosom dares not sigh, But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear. Even such an awful soothing calm A a On Christian mourners, while they wait And such the tones of love, which break Quelling th' embitter'd spirit's strife— "Am I believe, and die no more. Unchang'd that voice-and though not yet The dead sit up and speak, Answering its call; we gladlier rest Our darlings on earth's quiet breast, And our hearts feel they must not break. Far better they should sleep awhile Within the church's shade, Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth, Meet for their new immortal birth For their abiding place be made, Than wander back to life, and lean On our frail love once more. 'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse How grows in Paradise our store. Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on, Then cheerly to your work again Over the grave their Lord have met. CHURCHING OF WOMEN. Is there, in bowers of endless spring, More exquisitely bland! Here let him speed: to-day this hallow'd air Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer. Only let Heaven her fire impart, No richer incense breathes on earth : "A spouse with all a daughter's heart," To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye, O what a treasure of sweet thought Is here! what hope and joy and love All in one tender bosom brought, For the all-gracious Dove To brood o'er silently, and form for heaven Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given. Her fluttering heart, too keenly blest, And breathes serene and free. Slight tremblings only of her veil declare a Soft answers duly whisper'd to each soothing prayer. We are too weak, when Thou dost bless, To bear the joy-help, Virgin-born! By thine own mother's first caress, That wak'd thy natal morn! Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made A heaven on earth around the couch where Thou wast laid! a When the woman comes to this office, the rubric (as it was altered at the last review, directs that she be decently apparelled, i. e. as the custom and order was formerly, with a white covering or veil. Wheatley on the Common Prayer, c. xiii. sect. i. 3. |