1850-60.] JULIA AMANDA WOOD. 611 Spanned by the river of retumless tide, The space between us is not far nor wide; I hope to meet her on the other side. PRAYER FOR MY DYING CHILD. Since I cannot save thee, darling, Since my yearning prayer is vain, "While my heart so bleeding, broken, Pours o'er thee its tearful rain, Bends my soul before the altar Of our Father's golden throne, Praying, with tones that falter, For some soul to guide thine own. Through the dark and shadowy valley. O'er the river chill and wild, Up the starry steeps of soul-land Thou wouldst fear and faint, my child ; Thou so young, and mild, and tender, Full of tears when mamma's gone. How couldst bear the radiant splendor That at last should o'er thee dawn ? Send some spirit. Father holy, Down to guide my fainting dove ; There is one among Thine angels Who was once my child of love ; Like his eyes so blue and wondrous, Are the eyes of dying grace ; Browned hair like his, and golden, Falls around her pallid face. Shall not he with gentle coming. Fold his wing beside her bed, Clasp her soul to his, so saintly. Ere we call our blossom dead ? Ah, methinks I feel the presence — Now I bow me to the rod ; Christ, give pardon for my sorrow That my darlings are with God. THERE IS A LIGHT. There is a light within my soul, A beauteous gush of light. That lately o'er me sweetly stole, Most wondrously and bright — That wraps me in delicious gleams More purely, softly, tender. Than e'er came o'er me in the dreams, That had their dawn in splendor. 'Tis not of sun, or moon, or star. All glorious though they be ; It breaketh not from world afar This blessed light on me — It is more soft, subduing, clear. Entrancing in its flow. Most like that light of spirit-sphere Which dawneth not below. Clouds never lower in that pure clime. The rain-drops never fall. But steadily and ever shines That light most bright of all. It is the light that each fond heart Doth kindle by its love. And who shall say this is not part Of all the bliss above ? earth, and sea, and sky, and air. Are lighter for this light. And even birds and flowers fair Are more than ever bright. 1 tremble in its presence sweet That every ill doth banish, Lest, 'mid all things so frail and fleet. This, too, should darkly vanish. Thou chosen one, who giv'st this light O'er all my being thrown, Without which day is darkest night. Thou — beautiful — my own — • wilt thou, in the coming years, Be my sole light as now, And all the way through smiles and tears Give sunshine to my brow ?
