We Are Not Missed

If you and I To-day should die The birds would sing the same to-morrow; The vernal spring The flowers woula bring, And few would think of us with boitow. "Yes, he is dead," Would then be said. The corn would floss, the grass yield hay, And eattle low, And summer go, And few would heed us pass away. How soon we pass ! How few, alas ! Remember those who turn to mold Whose faces fade, With autumn's ehaáe, Beneath the sodden churchysrd cold. Tet it is so : We come and go I They hail our birth ; they mourn us dead; A day or more The winter is o'er- Another takes our place instead.