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CRUCE AND CORONA.
Its fair, pale beams upon the sheeted dead.It is a night-watch in the room of death;And this night-watch Crucè now keeps alone.The young girl, her companion watcher, sleeps.Crucè, remembering the weary hoursOf vigils never tiring, kept so longBy this young sleeper near her mother's sideTill life and hope departed, wakes her not,But bows her head and there in silence weeps.
These tears are not of grief for this one dead,Though long her mission-pupil she hath been;But that this soul but faint hope left behindOf life immortal in the blessed land.Yet for this soul how earnestly she toiled,With naught to show but that 'twas all in vainBut this alone, that since this soul had heardOf that one God, Creator of all things,And Ruler of the destinies of men,No idol temple had her presence known,No false god's altar had her gift received!
The morning dawns. When hours have passed away,A group of friends are gathered round the dead;Then others fill the room, and others waitTo bear the dead to its last resting-place.There they in silence for the coming wait
