For sure that path will lead
Up to a glorious home,
Where happy spirits never part,
And evil cannot come.
Her's was the hope that glows
Unwavering and serene,
The chasten'd spirit's meek repose
In every changeful scene;
Her's was the victor-power
When mortal anguish came,—
Child!—be thy holy trust thro' life,
Thy peace in death, the same.
FUNERAL IN A NEW COLONY.
Amid the forest-skirted plain
A few rude cabins spread,
And from their doors a humble train
Pass'd forth with drooping head;
They hied them to the dead man's home,
Lone hearth, and vacant chair,
Deep sorrow dimm'd that lowly dome,
Yet rose no voice of prayer.
His widow'd wife was weeping loud,
While closely to her breast,
Affrighted at the unwonted crowd,
A wondering infant prest,
