THE grave is Heaven’s gate, they say;
  And when dear Annie passed away,
    One calm June morning,
  I saw upon the heavenly stairs,
  A band of angels, unawares,
    Her path adorning.

  The grave is Heaven’s gate, they say;
  And when dear Annie passed away,
    A music flowing
  Filled my sad soul with love and light,
  That made me seem, by day and night,
    To Heaven going.

  The grave is Heaven’s gate, they say;
  And when dear Annie passed away,
    A saintly whiteness
  O’erspread the beauty of her face,
  And filled it with the tender grace
    Of angel brightness.

  The grave is Heaven’s gate, they say;
  And when dear Annie passed away,
    An angel splendid
  Cast his large glories to the ground,
  While waves of throbbing music-sound
    In sweetness blended.

  The grave is Heaven’s gate, they say;
  And when dear Annie passed away,
    In holy sweetness—­
  When life’s sad dream with her was o’er,
  Her white soul stood at Heaven’s door,
    In its completeness.

MOTHER.

WHEN she changed worlds, and before the time, what was she to others?  A small old, delicate woman. What was she to us? A radiant, smiling angel, upon whose brow the sunshine of the eternal world had fallen.  We looked into her large, tender eyes, and saw not as others did, that her mortal garment had waxed old and feeble; or if we saw, this, it was no symbol of decay, for beyond and within, we recognised her in all her beauty.  Oh! how heavy and bitter would have been her long and slow decline, if we had seen her grow old instead of young!  The days that hastened to give her birth into eternity, grow brighter and brighter, until when memory wandered back, it had no experiences so sweet as those through which she was passing.  The long life, with its youthful romance, its prosaic cares, its quiet sunshine, and deep tragedies, was culminating to its earthly close; and, like some blessed story that appeals to the heart in its great pathos, the end was drawing, near, all clouds were rolling away, and she was stepping forth into the brilliance of prosperity.  Selfishness ceased to weep under the light of her cheerful glance, and grew to be congratulation.  Beside her couch we sat, and traced with loving fancy the new life soon to open before her; with tears and smiles we traced it.  Doubts never mingled, for from earliest childhood we had no memories of her inconsistent with the expectations of a Christian.  Deep in our souls there lay gratitude that her morning drew near; beautiful and amazing it seemed that she would never more bow to the stroke of the chastener; fresh courage descended from on high, as we realized that there was an end to suffering; it was difficult to credit that her discipline was nearly over; how brief it had been, compared with the glorious existence it had won her.  How passing