From he Mothers Magazine. IT IS NOT HARD TO DIE.
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Oh mother, say, must we all die? You, sister, dear papa, and l? do not like to think shall Lie in the deep, dark grave, so still. Mother, I'm fond of life and play, And like not to be borne away From the green fields, and pleasant light. To lie where it is always night" "Come hither, child, and thou shalt place Within the earth, in yonder vase, This grain"

 "Oh, it is smooth and round! Mother, put not into the ground This pretty grain"

 "Do it, my love; For by this seed wish to prove That it is not so h0rd to die, And in the deep dark grave to lie.''

  How sweet fragrance fills the room! Mother, your flowers are now in bloom; And oh how beautiful they seem While standing in the bright sunbeam! Mother, I'm glad you made me place That smooth round seed within the vase; For, more delighted now, see The blossoms on this pretty tree, Which from that buried grain has sprung" "'Tis thus, my love, with children young, And loved of God; their bodies die, And, like that grain in earth must lie, But, like this flower, from thence shall rise, A form of beauty in the skies Which, quickly sprnging from the tomb, In Paradise shall ever bloom." Detroit, May 15, 1888.