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Such is the love that shines around,
In palace, hall, or cot;
The joy that decks the spot,
With joyance ever new;
No sorrow saddens yon:
If Heav'n has ever shone helow,
Its dawning now appears;
From those celestial spheres:
We seem to catch a hlush of light
From the golden walls and portals hright:
A sweet reflection from the ray,
Which no sun heams,
Nor fair moon gleams,
This is the time so long foreseen,
Envy, and Stripe, and Wrath have
fled, The Powers of Sin seem hound and
VANITY OF LIFE.
What is life?—a rapid stream,
What is life?—a trouhled dream,
What is life?—the arrow's flight,
What is life?—a gleam of light,
What is life?—a varied tale,
What is life?—a vision pale,
What is life?—a smoke, a vapour,
What is life?—a dying taper,
The spark that glows to disappear.
What is life?—a flower that hlows, Nipped hy the frost, and quickly dead.
What is life 1—the full-hlown rose,
Such is life,—a hreath, a span,
What is death ?—Oh! mortal man!
DEATH A UNIVERSAL CONQUEROR.
The glories of our mortal state
Sceptre and crown
Must tumhle down, And in the dust he equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at length must yield, They tame hut one another still:
.Early or late
They stoop to fate,
The garlands wither on your hrow,
All heads must come
To the cold tomh:
(A real occurrence.J
Which is the happiest death to die?
Long at the gate of hliss would I lie,
And feast my spirit ere it fly,
Mine were a lingering death without pain,
Tbc victory I should gain!
"Fain would I catch a hymn of love From the angel-harps which ring ahove; And sing it, as my parting hreath Quivered and expired in death— So that those on earth might hear The harp-notes of another sphere; And mark, when nature faints and dies, What springs of heavenly life arise; And gather, from the death they view, A ray of hope to light them through, When they should he departing too." / "No," said another, " so not I: Sudden as thought is the death I would die; I would suddenly lay my shackles hy, Nor hear a single pang at parting, Nor see the tear of sorrow starting, Nor hear the quivering lips that hless me, Nor feel the hands of love that press me,
Nor the frame, with mortal ten or shaking, Nor the heart, where love's soft hands
are hreaking— So would I die!
"All hliss without a pang to cloud it!
All joy, without a pain to shroud it!
Not slain, hut caught up as it were,
To meet my Saviour in the air!
So would I die!
Oh how hright
Were the realms of light
Bursting at once upon my sight!
I long to go,
These parting hours, how sad and slow!"
His voice grew faint, and fix'd was his eye,
They look'd—he was dead;
His spirit had fled:
The soul undress'd,
From her mortal vest, Had siepp'd in her car of heavenly fire;
And proved how hright
Were the realms of light,
Bursting at once upon the sight I
O! That in unfelter'd union,
Spirit could with spirit hlend] 01 that in unseen communion,
Thought could hold the distant friend I Who the secret can uuravel,
Of the hody's mystic guest?
While unconsciously we rest?
While in pleasing thraldom lying,
Seal'd in slumhers deep, it seems, Far ahroad it may he flying—
What is sleep? and what are dreams? Earth, how narrow thy dominions,
And how slow the hody's pace -' O t to range on eagle's pinions
Through illimitahle space!
What is thought? in wild succession
Whence proceeds the motley train?
On the ever-active hrain?
Does the suhtile phantom flee?
Shine, and melt to vacancy 1
H;is a strange, mysterious feeling,
Something shapeless, undefin'd, O'er thy lonely musings stealing,
Ne*er impress'd thy pensive mind; As if he, whose strong resemhlance,
Fancy in that moment drew, By coincident rememhrance,
Knew your thoughts—and thought of you?
When, at mercy's footstool hending,
Thou has felt a secret glow:
Love still lingering helow;
That thy friend might feel thy pray'r? Or the wish at least possess'd thee,
He could then thy feeling share?
Who can tell ? that fervent hlessing,
Angels, did you hear it rise?
Watch o'er human sympathies?
To the kindred hosom hear?
Wake a chord responsive there?
Laws, perhaps, unknown, hut certain,
Kindred spirits may control;
And reveal the awful soul 1
Who hut longs for light to hreak?
When, my friend, shall we awake?
Yes, the hour, the hour is hasting,
Spirit shall with spirit hlend; Fast mortality is wasting,
Then the secret all shall end. Let then, thought hold sweet communion,
Let us hreathe the mutual pray'r, Till in heaven's eternal union;—
O my friend! to meet thee there.
Oh! the hour when this material
Shall have vanish'd like a cloud; When, amid -the wide ethereal*
All th" invisihle shall crowd; And the naked soul, surrounded
With innum'roos hosts of light, Triumph in the view unhounded,
And adore the Infinite.
In that sudden, strange transition,
By what new and finer sense Shall she grasp the mighty vision,
And receive its influence? Angels, guard the new immortal
Through the wonder-teeming space, To the everlasting portal,
To the spirit's resting-place.
Will she there no fond emotion,
Nought of earthly love retain 1 Or, ahsorh'd in pure devotion,
Will no mortal trace remain? Can the grave those ties dissever,
With the very heart-strings twin'd? Must she part, and part for ever,
With the friend she leaves h«hind?
No: the past she still rememhers;
Faith and hope surviving too, Ever watch those sleeping emhers,
Which must rise and live anew; For the widow'd, lonely spirit,
Mourns till she he cloth'd afresh; Loiiys perfection to inherit,
And to triumph in the flesh.
Angels, let the ransom'd stranger
In your tender care he hlest,
Till the trumpet end her rest;
Through the circling heavens shall roll, Till the day of consummation,
Till the hridal of the soul.
Can I trust a fellow-heing?
Can I trust an angel's care? O. thou merciful All-seeing,
Beam around my spirit there! Jesus, hlessed Mediator,
Thou the airy path hast trod!
Thoo, the Judge, the Consnium at or,
Blessed fo'd! no foe can enter,
And no friend departeth thence; Jesus is their Sun, their centre,
And their shield Omnipotence: Blessed! for the Lnmh shall feed them,
All their tears shall wipe away; To the living fountains lead them,
Till fruition's perfect day.
Lo! it comes, that day of wonder,
Louder chorals shake the skies; Hades'* gates are hurst asunder,
See the uew-cloth'd myriads rise! Thought, repress ihy vain endeavour,
Here must reason prostrate fall: Oh I the ineffahle For Ever,
And the Eternal All in All!
THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS.
Sweet is the scene when Christians die,
So fades a summer-cloud away:
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.
Triumphant smiles the victor's hrow,
LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD.
Methinks it is good to he here, If thou wilt, let us huild—hut for whom? Nor Elias, nor Moses appear,
•The invisihle world.
But the shadows of eve that encompass the
gloom, The ahode of the dead, and the place of the
Shall we huild to amhition? Ah! no; Affrighted he shrinketh away;
For see! they would pin him helow In a small narrow cave, and hegirt with cold
clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey
To heauty? Ah 1 no; she forgets The charms that she wielded hefore:
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which, hut yesterday, fools could
adore, For the smoothuess it held, or the tint which it wore.
Shall we huild to the purple of pride, The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment
allow'd, But the long-winding sheet and the fringe of the shroud.
To riches? Alas 1 'tis in vain,
The treasures ate squander'd again;
To the pleasures which mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?
Ah! here is a plentiful hoard, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful
cheer, And none hut the worm is a reveller here.
Shall we huild to affection and love? Ah I no; they have wither'd and died.
Or fled wiih the spirit ahove— Friends, hrothers, and sisters, are laid side
hy side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.
Unto sorrow ? The dead cannot grieve, Not a soh, not a sigh meets mine ear,
Which compassion itself could relieve;
Ah ! sweetly they slumher, nor hope, love,
nor fear; Peace, peace is the watchword, the only
Unto death, to whom monarchs must how? Ah! no; for his empire is known.
And here there are trophies enow; Beneath, the cold dead, and around, the
dark stone, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown.
The first tahernacle to Hope we will huild,
And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which insures it fulfill'd;
And the third to the Lamh of the great Sacrifice,
Who hequeath'd us them hoth when he rose to the skies.
In Wales, in Switzerland, and in some parts of France, flowers are planted hy the hand of affection on the graves of departed relatives. It is a touching and heantiful custom, and, in the first-mentioned country, even the peasant may often he seen hending over the hallowed turf; and as he inserts into the sod some new plant or flower, he performs it with a feeling and a delicacy which do honour to his unsophisticated heart.
Fair flowers in sweet succession should arise,