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The glimmerings of a still increasing light,
Its cheering scenes, foretastes of heavenly joy,
Its storms and tempests sent to purify;

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

mortals are.


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
Shed everlasting brightness — where the soul
Drinks from the living streams of Love, that roll
By God's high throne ; myriads of glorious ones
Bring there th’ accepted offering. O how blest
To look from this dark prison to that shrine,
To inhale one breath of Paradise divine
And enter into that eternal rest
Which waits the sons of God! Remote from care,
Remote from disappointment, to employ
Hours never-ending in the courts of joy,
And wear a crown of heavenly splendor there!

With such a destiny - what earthly fear,
What earthly wo, shall cloud my spirit ? None.
Forward, then, forward to the golden throne !
Why should our restless wishes linger here?
See from the clouds a smiling angel calls,
“Come hither, Christian! Open is the door -
The path is straight - delay not, doubt no more,
Lo! thou art welcome to the heavenly halls.”

Father, I go!- I hear th' inviting sound -
No more shall earthly objects dim my eyes —
Away, away the world's dull vanities !
I hasten on

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.

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