The Return

Trom the Continental Moiithly. July, - what is the news they teil 1 A battle won : our eyes are dim, And síid forebodinga press the heart Anxious, awaiting news from liiin. Hour drags on hour: fond heart, be stïïï, Sliall evil tidings break the spell 1 A word al last! - they 1'ound him dead ; He fought in the advance, and feil. Oh aloes of affliction poured Into the wine cup of the soul ! Oh bitterness of anguish stored To lili our grief beyond control ! At last lie comes, awaited long, Not to home welcomes warm and loud, Not to the voiee of mirth and soie, Pale featuféd, cold. beneath a.shroud. Oh from the morrov of onr Iives A glöwing hope has stolen away, A something from the sun has ñed, ïhat (íinis theglory of the day. More earnestly we look bevond The present life to that to be ; Another influence draws the soul To long for that futurity. Pardon if anguïshed souls refrain Too lfttle, grieving foc the lost, From thinking dearly bouglit the gain . Of victory at such feacful cost. Teach us as dearest gain to prize The glory crown lie early won ; Fórever sluill hts requiem rise : Ilcst thee in peace, thy duty done.