THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED.

    Pure as an infant’s heart that sin ne’er touched,
    That guilt had ne’er polluted; and she seemed
    Most like an angel that had missed its way
    On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go. 
    Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence,
    Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word,
    Was seen in every motion that she made. 
    Her form was faultless, and her golden hair
    In long luxuriant tresses floated o’er
    Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone. 
    Her very look seemed to impart a sense
    Of matchless purity to all it met. 
    I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there
    That seemed so pure as she; and every eye
    That met her eye’s mild glance shrank back abashed,
    It spake such innocence. 
    One day she slept,—­
    How calm and motionless!  I watched her sleep
    Till evening; then, until the sun arose;
    And then, would have awakened her,—­but friends
    Whispered in my ear she would not wake
    Within that body more, for it was dead,
    And she, now clothed in immortality,
    Would know no more of change, nor know a care. 
    And when I felt that truth, methought I saw
    A bright angelic throng, in robes of white,
    Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God;
    And I heard music, such as comes to us
    Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life,
    And holy voices chanting heavenly songs,
    And harps and voices blending in one hymn,
    Eternal hymn of highest praise to God
    For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done
    Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls,
    To live on earth, and show to lower man
    How pure and holy, joyous and serene,
    They may and shall assuredly become
    When all the laws that God through Nature speaks
    Are kept unbroken! * * *
    * * * She had now returned,
    And heaven resounded with angelic songs. 
    Before me lay the cold, unmoving form;
    Above me lived the joyous, happy one! 
    And who should sorrow?  Sure, not I; not she;
    Not any one!  For death,—­there was no death,—­
    But that which men called death was life more real
    Than heart had o’er conceived or words expressed!

FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS!

    Flowers from the wild-wood,
        Flowers, bright flowers! 
    Springing in desert spot,
    Where man dwelleth not,—­
        Flowers, bright flowers,
    Cheering the traveller’s lot. 
    Given to one and all,
        Flowers, bright flowers! 
    When man neglecteth thee,
    When he rejecteth thee,
        Flowers, bright flowers,
    God’s hand protecteth thee! 
    Remnants of paradise,
        Flowers, bright flowers! 
    Tinged with a heavenly hue,