I told her, before they took her away from our house, I would come and
see her every morning." "You must" I continued, "have loved that
sister very much; but you will never talk with her any more, never see
her again." "Yes, sir," she replied, with a brightened look, "I shall
see her always in heaven." "But she has gone there already, I trust."
"No, she stops under this tree till they bring me here, and then we
are going to heaven together." "But she has gone already, my child:
you will meet her there, I hope; but certainly she is gone, and left
you to come afterward." She cast to me a look of inquiring
disappointment, and the tears came to her eyes.

Oh! yes, my sweet child, be it so,
That, near the cypress-tree,
Thy sister sees those eyes o'erflow,
And fondly waits for thee;
That still she hears the young birds sing,
And sees the chaplet wave,
Which every morn thy light hands bring,
To dress her early grave;
And in a brighter, purer sphere,
Beyond the sunless tomb,
Those virtues that have charmed us here
In fadeless life shall bloom.

* * * * *

THE LITTLE FLOWER-GARDEN.

In yonder village burying-place,
With briers and weeds o'ergrown,