There is no Winter. He, the uncounted gold
Of many a year's experience richly spreads
To a new generation, and methinks
With high prophetic brow doth stand sublime
Like Moses 'tween the living and the dead
To make atonement. God's unclouded smile
Sustain thee Patriarch! like a flood of light
Still brightening, till with those whom thou hast taught
And warn'd in wisdom and with weeping love
Led to the brink of Calvary's cleansing stream,
Thou strike the victor-harp o'er sin and death.
DEATH OF THE WIFE OF A CLERGYMAN, DURING THE SICKNESS OF HER HUSBAND.
Dark sorrow brooded o'er the Pastor's home,
The prayer was silent, and the loving group
That sang their hymn of praise at even and morn
Now droop'd in pain,—or with a noiseless step
Tended the sick. It was a time of woe:
Days measur'd out in anguish, and drear nights
Mocking the eye that waited for the dawn.
They, who from youth by hallow'd vows conjoin'd,
Had borne life's burdens with united arm,
And side by side, its adverse fortunes foil'd,
Apart,—an agonizing warfare fought
With Nature's stern destroyer. Tidings past
From couch to couch,—how stood the doubtful strife
'Twixt life and death. They might not lay their hand
Upon each other's throbbing brow,—or breathe
The words of comfort, for Disease had set
A gulf between them.
