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THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER.
She is an angel now!
Weep not, dear friend, that ere the rust of time
Had gathered o'er thy bright and priceless gem,
A hand Divine hath riven the casket fair,
And placed thy radiant jewel in the skies,
To shine for ever in the Saviour's crown.
Do thy thoughts cling to earth? O, bid them rise
On faith's strong wing, and in the spirit-land
Behold thy lost one. See! her brow is lit
With loveliness immortal. There, no tears
