THE HOME SICKNESS.

O civitas sancta, civitas speciosa, de longinquo te saluto, ad te clamo, te requiro."-Augustine, De Spir. et Anim.

AND whence this weariness,

This gathering cloud of gloom?
Whence this dull weight of loneliness,

These greedy cravings for the tomb?
These greedier cravings for the hopes that lie
Beyond the tomb, beyond the things that die;
Beyond the smiles and joys that come and go,
Fevering the spirit with their fitful flow;
Beyond the circle where the shadows fall;
Within the region where my God is all.

It is not that I fear

To breast the storm or wrestle with the wave,
To swim the torrent or the blast to brave,

To toil or suffer in this day of strife

As He may will who gave this struggling life,— But I am homesick!

THE HOME SICKNESS.

29

It is not that the cross

Is heavier than this drooping frame can bear,
Or that I find no kindred heart to share

The burden, which, in these last days of ill,
Seems to press heavier, sharper, sorer still,—
But I am homesick!

It is not that the snare

Is laid around for my unwary feet, And that a thousand wily tempters greet My slippery steps and lead me far astray From that safe guidance of the narrow way,— But I am homesick!

It is not that the path

Is rough and perilous, beset with foes,
From the first step down to its weary close,
Strewn with the flint, the briar, and the thorn,

That wound my limbs and leave my

raiment torn,

But I am homesick!

It is not that the sky

Is darkly sad, and the unloving air

Chills me to fainting; and the clouds that there

30

THE HOME SICKNESS.

Hang over me seem signal clouds unfurled, Portending wrath to an unready world,— But I am homesick!

It is not that the earth

Has grown less bright and fair,-that these grey hills,

These ever-lapsing, ever-lulling rills,

And these breeze-haunted woods, that ocean clear, Have now become less beautiful, less dear,— But I am homesick!

Let me, then, weary be!

I shrink not,-murmur not;

In all this homelessness I see

The Church's pilgrim-lot ;

Her lot until her absent Lord shall come,

And the long homeless here, shall find a home.

Then no more weariness!

No gathering cloud of gloom;
Then no dull weight of loneliness,

of life,

No greedy cravings for the tomb:
For death shall then be swallowed up
And the glad victory shall end the strife!

THE LAND OF LIGHT.

THAT clime is not this dull clime of ours;

All, all is brightness there;

A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers, And a far milder air.

No calm below is like that calm above.

No region here is like that realm of love;
Earth's softest spring ne 'er shed so soft a light,
Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright.

That sky is not like this sad sky of ours,

Tinged with earth's change and care:
No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers,-
No broken sunshine there!

One everlasting stretch of azure pours
Its stainless splendor o'er these sinless shores;
For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray,
There Jesus reigns dispensing endless day.