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Show THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. ! O the ms'ftery of death! I pit beside thee, dear. And wonder wherr thou art If far, or yet, so near. I. who have loved thee so, With love no words can tell, ,; . , . "Why should I say thou wert Xot art, my own love still? Erstwhile thy hand clasped mine, Thy lips gave full response: Now hands and lips are dumb. AVhere is their answering touch? Gone! Where? Xo mortal knows. Gone, past love's great recall, I hold this dear, Ptill hand And tears upon it fall. Gone! Where? We may not know Thou, silent one, couldst tell, But oh. what depths of woe This heart of mine doth fill. This silent, cold repofe, The still and silent face, Oh. God! my aching heart Chies out for help ar.d grace. My soul makes saddest moan And cries, "One word from thee!", Xo look, no sign, no word. They're gone. My soul is dead in mi To hold thee close once more. To hear thy voice, so dear, I long in vain, 'tis o'er Thou'rt gone thou art not here. Dear face..sa calm, so still: Dear eyes, with lids closed down, Dear hands." that have no will. . Dear heart, what is thy crown? If death is life, why weep? Thou art my own, love, still; j Thou art with God 'tis well. We'll meet again; 'tis not farewell. Xellie Merrell Wetherbee, in Oakland Herald. |