For the New-York Tribune.
sTANZA A 5.

nv REv. T. L. HARRIS.
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HY REV. T. L. HARRIS.


How beautiful is Death!
I'VE, nssioned angel OF the upper skies;
rIs kisses steal away the faltering BREATH
His rosy fingers close the dropping eyes,
He lulls the sleeper with gentle strain,
.Rest calmly, Dear One! thou wilt rise again."


How beautiful is Death!
He keepe,h vigil Ger the silent tomb; wreath
Round the fair slumberer's brow he twines a
OF Eden-aowers, fadeless in their bloom;
And from their pure and glowing bells they shed
Sweet. dewy odors ger the lowly head.


How beautiful is Death.
He calls from heaven loving seraph down;
In tones like distant Sabbath-chimes he saith
" Bring thou snow-white robe and golden crown
That, to the unshadowed life, our inend may rise
Clothed in the mystic glory OF the sKieF'


How beautiful Is Death.
He lifts the sleeper in his fond embrace
And folds around her form, above, beneath,
BRIGHT robes of immortality her face
With love exceeding bushes bright and calm,
In her white hand he lays the victors PALM


How beautiful is Death!
He opes the golden gates Of endless day,
And, Wake thee, dearest sister, gently sa'tll'
/" Seraphic Anthems round thy spirit play
She wakes and smiles, arrayed in living bloom,
Around her CLEANS the bright eternal noon
Tr,;,C ~