While He, whose blood for man was shed, And think that, (in that awful day, When darkness sun and moon is shading,) Then weep no more for him, who's gone For thus, when round your lowly bier And thus, when to the silent tomb Your lifeless dust like his is given, Like faith shall whisper, 'midst the gloom, That yet again, in youthful bloom, That dust shall smile in heaven! THE WORLD WE HAVE NOT SEEN. THERE is a world we have not seen, That time shall never dare destroy, Where mortal footstep hath not been, Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy. There is a region, lovelier far Than sages tell or poets sing, There is a world,—and O how blest!— One half its blessedness unfold. It is all holy and serene, The land of glory and repose; And there, to dim the radiant scene, The tear of sorrow never flows. It is not fann'd by summer gale; 'T is not refresh'd by vernal showers; It never needs the moonbeam pale, For there are known no evening hours. No: for this world is ever bright The streams of uncreated light Flow round it from the Eternal Thron There, forms that mortals may not see, In vain the philosophic eye May seek to view the fair abode, Or find it in the curtain'd sky : : It is THE DWELLING-PLACE OF GOD. THE BETTER LAND. "I HEAR thee speak of the better land; And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?" "Not there, not there, my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, -“Not there, not there, my child!” "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, -"Not there, not there, my child! "Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! -It is there, it is there, my child!" THE GRAVE TO THE BELIEVER A PLACE OF REST. FEW are thy days, and full of wo, Thy doom is written, "Dust thou art, Behold the emblem of thy state Guilty and frail, how shalt thou stand Determined are the days that fly Great God! afflict not, in thy wrath, The short allotted span That bounds the few and weary days All nature dies, and lives again: The flower that paints the field, The trees that crown the mountain's brow, Resign the honors of their form And leave the naked leafless plain. Yet soon reviving plants and flowers The woods shall hear the voice of spring, But man forsakes this earthly scene, Ah! never to return; Shall any following spring revive The ashes of the urn? The mighty flood, that rolls along So days, and years, and ages past, And man, laid in his lonesome grave, O may the grave become to me Whence I shall gladly rise at length, |