Where is our brother?  Where is he,
  Ye late saw smiling here,
I look in vain his face to see
  To catch his tones so clear.

Where is my brother?  Can it be,
  That we shall never more
Behold his form upon the earth,
  As oft, so oft, before.

Ah! till we meet before the bar
  At Time’s last, awful day,
We shall not see his face again,
  Although we mourn alway.

In youth cut down, he lies so still,
  That all the strength of grief,
Cannot restore his form to us,
  One moment though so brief.

Through Life’s long day, we’ll think on him,
  And mourn his early flight,
And Earth, to us, hath lost a star,
  Gone down in endless night.

To us, gone down in endless night,—­
  Beyond the sun afar,
He beams beside his Savior-God,
  A bright immortal star.

STAR OF REST.

Star of Rest! thy silvery lustre,
  Brightly streams from heaven above,
Ere each sweet and glittering cluster
  Ope on earth their eyes of love.

Star of Rest! how gently closeth
  Every bud beneath thy brow,
And the wearied frame reposeth
  From its daily labor now.

Star of Rest! thy streaming splendor,
  Lends the proud and queenly moon,
Till a glorious host attend her
  Through her deep and silent noon.

Star of Rest! we bless thy beaming,
  From that vault so calm and blue,
For thou bringest sweetest dreaming,
  And thou fillest the heart with dew.

Love of Heaven—­oh! brightly shining,
  Gleam above our dying bed,
When the Day of life declining,
  Tells us that its toil has sped.

MELANCHOLY.

There comes a time for flowers to fade, and light to die in gloom,
There is a time for mortal bliss to know a certain doom. 
Sometimes I feel that I have reached that hour, and I have felt,
When pondering o’er the dreary change, my spirit in me melt. 
The joyful trust, the bounding hopes, that laughed at scorned defeat,
The feeling, like pure rock-born streams, as strong, as deep, and sweet;
The soul that thrilled with transport wild, at Beauty’s magic name;
Ah! all have strangely altered now,—­I am no more the same. 
And now I feel alone and sad amid an ocean wide,
I care not much to what strange coast my single plank may ride,
I am alone—­what matters it where my bowed frame may be,
Since now my heart is never more by land or rolling sea. 
I feel that as yon Night now throws its mantle o’er the earth,
Till ghostly shapes and ghostly sounds, go dimly walking forth—­
That soon the night of Death may throw its mantle over me,
And unfamiliar things shall rise from dark eternity. 
Yet, would I hope, when such shall come, to dwell not with pain,
But walk, with a triumphant song, o’er heaven’s unshadowed plain—­
Where Youth and Hope, and Love and Joy, (the angels,) ever smile,
And evermore the aching heart from woe and grief beguile.