CRUCE AND CORONA.
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My waning vision rested, my own soulShall happier be through all eternity.'Tis twilight now—God bless thee, friend—farewell."
The twilight shades, with silence solemn, deepAre gathering within that room. AloneOnce more, Corona by the window stands,The star of evening looking down on herIn mild yet solemn beauty. But her thoughtsAre wandering through times whose length exceedsThe unimagined distance of that star,Or stars ten thousand times more distant still,—Are in eternity; and in her soulThe echo and re-echo of these words,"Shall happier be through all eternity,"A solemn joy diffuse, a blessing bringLike God's own benediction. For whoe'erA joy eternal brings to any soulDoth cause it to draw nearer to its God;And such, when standing by the great white Throne,Shall hear, "Ye blessed of my Father, come."
V.
'Tis night in India: 'tis the midnight hour.The moonlight, streaming through the window, fallsUpon the bowed head of Crucè, and casts
