The future heaven just breaking on the sight, O! is not life a bright, inspiring thing? "What is the gift of life?" To him whose soul through this tempestuous road Who sees the boundless page of knowledge spread, XX. "Passed from death unto life."-John v. 24. 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 fear? M 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 fair Freed from the grossness of mortality, May I not love them all, and better all enjoy? 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! XXI. "God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave; for He will receive me."-Psalm xlix. 15. 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 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! XXII. "Knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and an enduring substance."-Heb. x. 34. HIGH thoughts! They come and go, Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden, While round me flow The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden: When the corn's rustle on the ear doth comeWhen the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy hum,When the stars, dewdrops of the summer sky, Watch over all with soft and loving eyeWhile the leaves quiver By the lone river, And the quiet heart From depths doth call, And garners all, Forgotten whole, And heaven lives In the blessed soul ! High thoughts! They are with me When, deep within the bosom of the forest, Thy morning melody Abroad into the sky, thou, Throstle, pour est. When the young sunbeams glance among the trees When on the ear comes the soft song of beesWhen every branch has its own favourite bird, And songs of summer from each thicket heard! Where the owl flitteth, Where the roe sitteth, And holiness Seems sleeping there; Goes up to heaven In purity, Till all is glory And joy to me! High thoughts! They are my own When I am resting on a mountain's bosom, And see below me strown The huts and homes where humble virtues blossom When I can trace each streamlet through the meadow When I can follow every fitful shadow When I can watch the winds among the corn, And see the waves along the forest borne ; Are blooming together, And far doth come The sabbath bell, Of nature's heart: God! Thou art! |