THE URN OF THE HEART.

———

BY MISS MATTIE GRIFFITH.

———

Deep in my heart there is a sacred urn

I ever guard with holiest care, and keep

From the cold world’s intrusion. It is filled

With dear and lovely treasures, that I prize

Above the gems that sparkle in the vales

Of Orient climes or glitter in the crowns

Of sceptered kings.

The priceless wealth of life

Within that urn is gathered. All the bright

And lovely jewels that the years have dropped

Around me from their pinions, in their swift

And noiseless flight to old Eternity,

Are treasured there. A thousand buds and flowers

That the cool dews of life’s young morning bathed,

That its soft gales fanned with their gentle wings,

And that its genial sunbeams warmed to life

And fairy beauty ’mid the melodies

Of founts and singing birds, lie hoarded there,

Dead, dead, forever dead, but oh, as bright

And beautiful to me as when they beamed

With Nature’s radiant jewelry of dew.

And they have more than mortal sweetness now,

For the dear breath of loved ones, loved and lost,

Is mingling with their holy perfume.

Like

A very miser, day and night I hide

The hoarded riches of my dear heart-urn.

Oft at the midnight’s calm and silent hour,

When not a tone of living nature seems

To rise from all the lone and sleeping earth,

I lift the lid softly and noiselessly,

Lest some dark, wandering spirit of the air

Perchance should catch with his quick ear the sound.

And steal my treasures. With a glistening eye

And leaping pulse, I tell them o’er and o’er,

Musing on each, and hallow it with smiles

And tears and sighs and fervent blessings.

Then,

With soul as proud as if yon broad blue sky

With all its bright and burning stars were mine.

But with a saddened heart, I close the lid,

And once again return to busy life,

To play my part amid its mockeries.