And, leaving, he prayed: "O my Father and Friend,
Grant me strength to be faithful to the end!"




OUR MOUNTAIN CEMETERY.


Lonely and silent and calm it lies
'Neath rosy dawn or midnight skies;
So densely peopled, yet so still,
The murmuring voice of mountain rill,
The plaint the wind 'mid branches wakes,
Alone the solemn silence breaks.

Whatever changes the seasons bring,--
The birds, the buds of joyous spring,
The glories that come with the falling year
The snows and storms of winter drear,--
Are all unmarked in this lone spot,
Its shrouded inmates feel them not.

Thoughts full of import, earnest and deep,
Must the feeling heart in their spirit steep,
Here, where Death's footprints meet the sight:
The long chill rows of tombstones white,
The graves so thickly, widely spread,
Within this city of the Dead.