The New Hampshire Gazette

From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier
THE SOUL'S HOPE.
Is there no land where they,-
The cherished ones of earth, may yet live on,
When the pure spirit hath left, cold and lone,
Its prison-house of clay ?
Hath it no home, more beautiful and blest,
Where, like the dove's, its wearied wing may rest ?
When death hath set a seal
Of fearful beauty on the placid brow,
And the warm human heart hath nothing now
To suffer or to feel -
When all our tears avail not to recall
The loved again,—is this the end of all?
Oh no! it cannot be,
That God forgetteth them,the fair, the young,
Who, in their dream-like beauty, live, so long,
In human memory.
The flowers that pass from earth, so pale and dim,
With gentle hand are gathered up by Him.
Then far from grief and gloom.
Watered by living fountains, —with the light
Of Heaven's own glory shining; in his sight,
Eternally they bloom!
We fear thee not, oh Death !thine is the hand
That opens the portals to that better land!