WOMEN AT THE CROSS AND TOMB OF

THE SAVIOUR.

Last at his cross, and earliest at his grave.

BARRETT.

THEY wept beneath his cross, when all beside

Forsook him; when a trembling seized the earth,

When terror shook the nations far and wide,

And from their graves the buried dead came forth.

They wept beneath his cross when fear was rife,

Like flowers that bowed, but broke not with the strife.

They followed to his tomb, and saw him laid,
Even as a mortal, in the darkening dust;
With streaming eyes his resting-place surveyed,

But never failed a moment in their trust

That he should burst its bonds again, and rise,
Amidst rejoicing angels, to the skies.

They stood beside his grave, ere the first light

Of morning shone upon the dew-charged flowers; The seal was gone,-the guards were put to flight! And Death, the tyrant that the earth devours, O'ercome, their Saviour could his sting destroy; And now they wept !-ay, wept again for joy!

Oh, woman! ever thus forsake Him not,

And he shall not forsake thee, he shall be Thy constant friend, whatever be thy lot,

And in thy parting hour the stay for thee;

Thy faith shall strengthen,-from despair shall save, And at thy rising, call thee from thy grave.

THE PLACE OF REST.

"This is not your rest.

I am weary of life,-I am tired of the earth,-
Of its dark, dark sorrows and boisterous mirth;
Of its changeful scenes,-its uncertain joys,-
Its woes that frown, and its pleasure that cloys,-
Of its dreams, that delude the youthful breast ;-
Would I could find me a place of rest!

I sought it in lands beyond the sea,
Where the flowers come forth in radiancy,
Where spread the brightest and sunniest sky;
But, alas! I found that the flowers must die,-

That clouds would o'ershadow the heavens' blue

breast,

And I left it, for me 'twas no place of rest!

I returned again to the place of my birth,

But changes had come o'er its cheerful hearth:
Some were now wanderers o'er the far wave,-
Some were at peace in the lonely grave;

There were still some hearts that were not estranged,
But except their affections, all things were changed.

There were voices beloved, but their tremulous tone Told of the years that were over them gone;

There were brows that scarce touched by Time's dark

ening wing,

Looked like the lingering flowers of spring;

There were smiles, but they only shone over decay,

Like the fading light o'er the dying day;

There were heads, with whose sunny clustering hair

Were mingled the early snows of care;

There were eyes, but where was their once bright

hue?

A mist of tears had dimmed their blue:

Oh, I brooked not to look on those altered things,

And I stayed not there my wanderings!

I went to fair cities, and in the crowd

I mingled awhile with the gay and proud;

I strove to be happy,—I strove to smile,

But the days passed heavily on the while;
And though every hour with mirth was fraught,

It bore not within it the peace I sought.

I fled away into solitude,

I hoped to find quiet by mountain and wood;
But alas! when the spirit would use its wings
And mingle with grand and glorious things,