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    The morning dawned without a cloud,
But evening came with pall and shroud,--
With muffled step, and bated breath,
And mournful whisperings of--death!

    Young lips, that in the morning sung
The summer's opening flowers among,
Were hushed and cold;--young, laughing eyes,
That met the dawn with sweet surprise,
Were darkly sealed;--young feet, that pressed
The dewy turf with glad unrest,
Were cold and stirless, never more
To tread the paths they trod before;--
And they, who in the morning strayed
In fawn-like freedom down the glade,
In solemn, dreamless slumber lay,
To wake no more, at fall of day!

    O stern, remorseless, sullen Tide!
O dark Flood, never satisfied!
Couldst thou not pity, when, to thee
Those young lambs sped so trustingly?
Nay, nay;--the tempest's stormy wrath
Spares not the lily in its path!--
The tameless river will not rest,
To heed the rose-leaf on its breast!--
A moment, and the quiet shore
Heard a low wail, and heard no more;--
And then, with calm, unaltered mien,
The river glided on serene--
With what a weight of anguish fraught!--
Unconscious of the woe it wrought.

    "Dust unto dust!" O God, thy way
Strange and mysterious seems to-day,
As, in the darkness of the tomb,
What but an hour ago was bloom
And beauty, now we hide away,
And leave to silence and decay!
Aid us in lowliness to bow,
And own how just and good art thou,
And, though thou hidest still thy face,
Trust the great love we may not trace!

       - Mrs. J. C. Yule

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