A MESSAGE—AN ANSWER.

I.

I HEARD that life was failing thee ; and sent

A rose, the Chalice of Love's Sacrament, Thinking that the sweet heart of her should show

How one remembers thee, that long ago

Had steeped the rose in tears, long dried, long spent.

Not that my messenger should stir thy breast, Or passion move thee, that for only guest Should have the Lord of Life, thy soul to guide

Through the Death-valley to the other side— Thy only love be now the First and Best—

But that before the awful shadows creep Across thee, and thou fall indeed asleep, Thy whitening fingers once might wander in The petal's depths ; and thou, remembering, Mightst send some token to a friend to keep.

A friend,-0 sacred word of depth divine !

Passion may fade as fadeth pale moonshine, And glories fail from off the earth and sea, But what shall hinder us, if unto me Thou say,—" I am thy friend, and thou art mine ?"

Love halteth trembling at the Gates of Life, Afraid to enter, since her heat is strife, And she transfused is with earth's unrest;

But for us, friend, it hath long since been best,—

Love past a long while since, when Love was rife.

0 friend !—they say that thou art drifting past— Let but a whisper from thy lips be cast, And I will thither come with eager feet, And search about thee, dead, for that one sweet,— And know that it is mine, and hold it fast !

Trouble thee would I not, that know, dear friend ; Only before the silence of the end Speak ! since for evermore mine ear must be Racked with the silence of Eternity ! And 1,-1 have but this pale rose to send !

IL At night, as I lay still upon my bed, Weary of thinking of a friend long dead,

And of a message that I sent to him,—

Of the no-answer that he, passing, sent Of the all-darkness of the way he went, Tears, spent for friendship, made mine eyes grow dim - When on my window-sill I heard the moan Of a meek dove, that in sad undertone Complained most piteously. " 0 dove !" I said, "Torment me not, for friends have been untrue, And Love in dying s]ayeth friendship too, And faith of mine is buried with my dead."

But then it seemed God touched my stubborn ear, And all my soul awoke, and I could hear Divineat answer coming in the moan.

" 0 friend!" the answer said, " thou falsely true ! Thou stirrest ever my repose anew."

(And then there came a thrilling in the tone,)— " What tidings wouldst thou have? From me to thee Never can message come o'er land or sea.

Living I found no speech to frame my soul,

And all my soul is thine ! And entered here, I find it even so. In this pure sphere Love rangeth ever, knowing no control, " But that which thou didst know of old on earth Is born again ; and from the second birth Stands measureless of stature, grown divine !

If on the earth and in my dying hour Words none had I, nor yet could find a flower To take a message to one friend of mine, _ "How shall it be that this unfathomed Love Should find its token in the heaven above, Or in the earth beneath me, or the sea?

We lived long years of silence there below,- 0 be content ! and for thy healing know Silence alone bath voice to answer thee !"

C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.