Their incense o'er the peaceful home

That knows no more of suffering.

Full many a Summer's sun has shed

Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,

And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread

Their garments here—she heeds them not!

The feathered wildlings of the wood and field

Their untaught melody around it make,

But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed

Their gladsome songs can never more awake.

O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold

To dream no more of hopes unrealized!

O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold

By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!

[Pg 44]

[Pg 44]

A FRECKLE-FACED BOY.

I'm just in my glory when the cat I can tease,

Or I'm hunting for bird nests up in the trees,

And I wear out my pants in the seat and the knees;

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