So with sad thanks I gave the mustard back,
And prayed of others; but the others said,
"Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave!"
“Here is the seed, but our good man is dead!”
"Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died
Between the rain-time and the harvesting!"

Ah, sir! I could not find a single house

Where there was mustard-seed and none had died!
Therefore I left my child—who would not suck
Nor smile beneath the wild-vines by the stream,
To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray
Where I might find this seed and find no death,
If now, indeed, my baby be not dead,

As I do fear, and as they said to me.’

'My sister! thou hast found,' the Master said, 'Searching for what none finds that bitter balm

I had to give thee. He thou lovedst slept
Dead on thy bosom yesterday: to-day

Thou know'st the whole wide world weeps with thy woe:
The grief which all hearts share grows less for one.

Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay

Thy tears and win the secret of that curse

Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives
O'er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice
As these dumb beasts are driven

men their lords.

I seek that secret: bury thou thy child!'

SHE AND HE.

• Come away;

'SHE is dead!' they said to him.
Kiss her and leave her! thy love is clay!'

They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair;
On her forehead of marble they laid it fair :

Over her eyes, which gazed too much,
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;
With a tender touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;

About her brows, and her dear, pale face
They tied her veil and her marriage-lace;

And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes;
Which were the whiter no eye could choose !

And over her bosom they crossed her hands;
'Come away,' they said, 'God understands!'

And then there was Silence; —and nothing there
But the Silence and scents of eglantere,

And jasmine, and roses,

and rosemary;

For they said, 'As a lady should lie, lies she!'

And they held their breath as they left the room,
With a shudder to glance at its stillness and gloom.
But he

who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,

He lit his lamp, and took the key,

And turned it! - Alone again - he and she!

-

He and she; but she would not speak,

Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek;

He and she; yet she would not smile,

Though he called her the name that was fondest erewhile.

He and she; and she did not move

To any one passionate whisper of love!

Then he said, 'Cold lips! and breast without breath!
Is there no voice? - no language of death

'Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,

But to heart and to soul distinct, — intense?

'See, now, I listen with soul, not ear

What was the secret of dying, Dear?

'Was it the infinite wonder of all,

That you ever could let life's flower fall?

'Or was it a greater marvel to feel
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

'Was the miracle greatest to find how deep, Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep?

'Did life roll backward its record, Dear, And show, as they say it does, past things clear?

' And was it the innermost heart of the bliss To find out so what a wisdom love is?

'Oh, perfect Dead! Oh, Dead most dear, I hold the breath of my soul to hear;

'There must be pleasure in dying, Sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!

'I would tell you, Darling, if I were dead,
And 't were your hot tears upon my brow shed.

'I would say, though the angel of death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid.

'You should not ask, vainly, with streaming eyes, Which in Death's touch was the chiefest surprise;

'The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring.'

Ah! foolish world! Oh! most kind Dead Though he told me, who will believe it was said?

Who will believe that he heard her say,
With the soft rich voice, in the dear old way:

'The utmost wonder is this, — I hear,

And see you, and love you, and kiss you, Dear;

'I can speak, now you listen with soul alone; your soul could see, it would all be shown

If

'What a strange delicious amazement is Death, To be without body and breathe without breath.

'I should laugh for joy if you did not cry;
Oh, listen! Love lasts! — Love never will die.

Bride;

'I am only your Angel who was your And I know, that though dead, I have never died.'

Sweet friends! What the women lave

For its last bed of the grave,

Is a tent which I am quitting,

Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room,

The wearer, not the garb,

Of the falcon, not the bars

the plume

Which kept him from those splendid stars.

Loving friends! Be wise and dry
Straightway every weeping eye, —
What ye lift upon the bier

one

Is not worth a wistful tear.
'T is an empty sea-shell,
Out of which the pearl is gone;
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
'T is an earthen jar, whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of his treasury,
A mind that loved him; let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in his store!

Allah glorious! Allah good!
Now thy world is understood;
Now the long, long wonder ends;
Yet ye weep, my erring friends,
While the man whom ye call dead,
In unspoken bliss, instead,
Lives and loves you; lost, 't is true,
By such light as shines for you;
But in the light ye cannot see
Of unfulfilled felicity,