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mother:, home, and heaven. 99
That pale, cold hand how ardently I pressed, Which lay so passive on the pulseless breast! His heart, once throbbing warmly as my own, Was still in death—the vital spark had flown.
Tears, bittertears,streamedo'erthat peaceful brow, My heart grew sick—I feel that faintness now; Upward towards Heaven I turned my tearful eye, And Jesus whispered, " Let thy tears be dry."
Again he spoke: my spirit felt the power Of those sweet words in such a sorrowing hour— " Weep not, thy brother lives in glory now, Behold my signet on that placid brow /"
I heard, I gazed—there was the signet ring Which told me he had spread the unchained wing, And passed the swelling wave to that blest shore Where loved ones meet to separate no more.
MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN.
Three of the sweetest words in the English language are, Mother, Home, and Heaven.—Ladies' Repository.
Mother—it sounds like melody by night Borne o'er the waters in a dreamy spell,
Or like the music of the early light,
Whose soft tones thi;o' the rustling foliage swell; For in the heart's deep shrine its memories dwell