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The Shadow of the Rock!

Always at hand,

Unseen it cools the noontide land,

And quells the fire that flickers in the sand. It comes in sight

Only at night;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!

Mid skies storm-riven

It gathers shadows out of heaven,

And holds them o'er us all night cool and even. Through the charmed air

Dew falls not there;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!
To angels' eyes

This Rock its shadow multiplies,
And at this hour in countless places lies.
One Rock, one shade,

O'er thousands laid;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!
To weary feet,

That have been diligent and fleet,

The sleep is deeper and the shade more sweet. O weary, rest!

Thou art sore pressed;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!

Thy bed is made;

Crowds of tired souls like thine are laid
This night beneath the self-same placid shade.

They who rest here

Wake with Heaven near;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!
Pilgrim, sleep sound;

In night's swift hours with silent bound,

The Rock will put thee over leagues of ground,

Gaining more way

By night than day;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

The Shadow of the Rock!

One day of pain,

Thou scarce wilt hope the Rock to gain,

Yet there wilt sleep thy last sleep on the plain, And only wake

In heaven's daybreak;

Rest in the Shadow of the Rock!

FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.

BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born at Cummington, Mass., in 1794. He graduated at Williams College, and began the practice of the law, but soon turned to literature. He became the editor of the New York Evening Post, and was throughout his life an honored citizen, a respected poet, and a pure patriot. He died in New York City in 1879, from the effects of a fall, after exposure during the delivery of an oration in Central Park.

OH, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again

The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night; And grief may bide an evening guest,

But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier
Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny, -
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING

MOURNING.

As virtuous men pass mildly away
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
The breath goes now, and some say no;

So let us melt. and make no noise,

No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move, 'T were profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love.

Moving of the earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent.

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