NO MORE CRYING.

REV. xxi. 4.

I LAY upon my bed, and dream'd a dream.

Time and its conflicts had, methought, long since
Been number'd with the past. Nothing was heard
But Hallelujahs from the universe:

Our Father's will was done, His kingdom come:
Earth was a nursery for heaven. When, lo!
Among the mingled ranks of saints and seraphs
Who stood before the throne, a short, sharp cry -
A short, sharp, passionate cry-suddenly rose:
One cry, and from the humblest of that throng;
One little cry, and in a moment hush'd.
But instantly the glorious tide of praise,
Which for long ages had flow'd on and on

In ever-deepening waves of crystal joy,

Was troubled. Angel on archangel look'd
Amazed, abash'd, appall'd: saint gazed on saint
Incredulous: and quickly through all worlds
The sympathetic tidings spread dismay.
Wherefore? Was heaven's felicity so frail?
Whence had that cry such terrors? Sin, sin, sin:
Faint, feeble, fugitive; but real sin.

Had Satan broken loose? Should evil cast

Again its dismal shadow over good?

Angels grew pale; all faces gather'd gloom;
Thunders began to roll. And with the shock

I woke; and waking knew it was a dream,

A feverish nightmare-dream, earth-born, earth-bred, And one of heaven's impossibilities.

1867.

Hymns.

I.

THE PRINCE OF PEACE.

I.

HARK, hark! the advent cry again:

The angels sing His birth,

"Glory to God, good-will to men,

And peace on earth."

II.

He comes; and eager listeners throng

The lowly path He trod;

III.

See, His frail bark the waters fill:

Yet why that faithless dread?

Before His mighty "Peace, be still,"

The storm is fled.

IV.

A weeping sinner dares to touch

And bathe His feet with tears:

And "Go in peace: thou lovest much,"

Is all she hears.

V.

His hour is come: sad bosoms heave

With bodings unexpress'd:

Peace grief itself forgets to grieve

At His bequest.

VI.

O never, never, gentle Dove,

Let Thy soft pleadings cease, Until we bask in light, and love,

And perfect peace.