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Young hopes, young friendships, joys of earth, Had passed him by like summer- dreams, Solemn his life had been from birth, Like march of mountain streams.

ALL WELL.

Changeful his lot, like yon vexed sky, When moorland breezes wildly blow, His weary soul now rests on high, His body sleeps below.

Rest, weary dust, lie here an hour; Ere long, like blossom from the sod, Thou shalt come forth a glorious flower, Fit for the eye of God.

ALL WELL.

No seas again shall sever; No desert intervene; No deep, sad- flowing river Shall roll its tide between.

No bleak cliffs upward towering, Shall bound our eager sight; No tempest darkly lowering, Shall wrap us in its night. Love, and unsevered union, Of soul with those we love, Nearness and glad communion Shall be our joy above.