The glimmerings of a still increasing light, O! is not life a bright, inspiring thing? 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 sin to sully, and no grief to blight,- XIX. 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, I'm led by death away, fear? from sorrow here why should I start and If I have loved the forest and the field, Can I not love them deeper, better there? Freed from the grossness of mortality, 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. XX. I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 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, 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! XXI. THERE is a land, where everlasting suns Shed everlasting brightness where the soul Drinks from the living streams of Love, that roll Which waits the sons of God! Remote from care, And wear a crown of heavenly splendor there! With such a destiny - what earthly fear, Lo! thou art welcome to the heavenly halls." Father, I go!-I hear th' inviting sound- I hasten on to heaven, to Eden bound. XXII. WHEN trembling on the awful bourne What tho' the waters roll between? Even now on Eden's vernal shore ; To waft the enfranchis'd prisoner o'er; Smiles on me as the pale moon's ray; "Come hither, spirit, come!". - they say. |