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The glimmerings of a still increasing light,
O! is not life a bright, inspiring thing?
" What is the gift of life? To him whose soul through this tempestuous road Hath past, and found its home - it's heaven, it's
God, Who sees the boundless page of knowledge
spread, And years, as boundless, rolling o'er his head, No cloud to darken the celestial light, No sin to sully, and no grief to blight, —
Is not that better life a glorious thing?
DEATH comes to take me where I long to be ; One pang, and bright blooms the immortal
flower; Death comes to lead me from mortality,
To lands which know not one unhappy hour ; I have a hope, a faith, from sorrow here I'm led by death away, — why should I start and
If I have loved the forest and the field,
Can I not love them deeper, better there? If all that power hath made, to me doth yield Something of good and beauty - something
fairFreed from the grossness of mortality, May I not love them all, and better all enjoy ?
A change from wo to joy-from earth to heaven,
Death gives me this — it leads me calmly where The souls that long ago from mine were riven May meet again. Death answers many a
prayer. Bright day, shine on! be glad : days brighter far Are stretched before my eyes than those of
I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial ground God's Acre ! it is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the Archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on
With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the
sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow !
There is a land, where everlasting suns
With such a destiny - what earthly fear,
Father, I go!- I hear th' inviting sound -
to heaven, to Eden bound.
WHEN trembling on the awful bourne
Which bounds life's transitory stage, Tranquil my dying thoughts shall turn
Back on the well-spent pilgrimage: While visions, robed in glory bright,
Beam thro' life's evening shade serene, From heaven's eternal isles of light;
What tho' the waters roll between ? The arm that oft hath saved, shall save ;
Death has no terrors now for me. Where is thy sting, O where, thou grave ?
0, Death! where is thy victory? Methinks I see the flow'rets bloom
Even now on Eden's vernal shore; Methinks I feel the breezes come
To waft the enfranchis'd prisoner o'er ; Methinks a light as soft as sweet
Smiles on me as the pale moon's ray ; Methinks I heard the angels greet,
“Come hither, spirit, come!" -- they say.