The others have trod,
And I am alone.

We shall meet again;
I fancy sometimes how they talk together,
Of the way they travelled, the stormy weather
That beat so hard on their pilgrim road,
Now changed for the city of their God;
I wonder if in their special home,
They keep choice rooms till their darlings come.
Saviour, who loves them, protect and guide me
Where they are waiting 'neath life's fadeless tree,
Father and mother,
And elder brother,
And sisters twain.




A Song of the Flowers.



"Why are you weeping, ye gentle flowers?
Are ye not blest in your sunny bowers?
Have you startling dreams that make ye weep,
When waking up from your holy sleep?

"Ah, knowest thou not, we fold at night,
The tears earth drops from her eyelids bright,