Oh, promise me by all our love
That thou wilt meet me there."

That earnest look--I see it still,
That voice--I hear it yet;
And death this aching heart shall chill
Before it can forget.

The flowers have faded one by one,
The summer birds are flown,
And 'neath a cold autumnal sun
I wander forth alone.

The yellow leaves are falling fast
Along the river side,--
I watch them borne upon the blast,
And on the swelling tide.

I think how all things earthly fade,
Then wipe the tears that flow,
As memory brings the promise made
So many years ago.




THE DEAD CHRIST.


The last expiring groan was hushed; the beaming eye was closed--it