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Heee, my hest thoughts are stained with guilt and fear;

But love and pardon shall he perfect There.

Here, my hest duties are denied with sin;

There, all is ease without, and peace within.

Here, feehle faith supplies my only light;

Thfre, faith and hope are swallowed up in sight.

Here, love of se'f my fairest works destroys;

There, love of God shall perfect all my joys.

Here, things as in a glass, are darkly shown;

There, I shall know as clearly as I'm known.

Frail are the fairest flowers which hloom helow;

There, freshest palms on roots immortal grow.

Here, wants and cares perplex my anxious mind;

But spirits There, a calm fruition nod.

Here, disappointments my hest schemes destroy;

There, those that sowed in tears shall reap in joy.

Here, vanity is stamped on all helow;

Perfection There, on every good shall grow.

Here, my fond heart is fastened on some friend,

Whose kindness may, whose life must have an end;

But There, no failure can I ever prove,—

Cod cannot disappoint, for God is love.

Here, Christ for sinners suffered, gToaned, and hled;

But There, he reigns the great triumphant Head.

Here, mocked and scourged, he wore a crown of thorns;

A crown of glory There, his hrow adorns.

Here, error clouds the will, and dims the sight;

There, all is knowledge, purity, and light.

Here, So imperfect is this mortal state,

If hlest myself, 1 mourn some other's fate—

At every human wo I Here repine;

The joy of every saint shall There he mine.

Here, if I lean, the world shall pierce my heart;

But There, that hroken reed and I shall part.

Here, on no promised good can I depend;

But There, the Rock of Ages is my friend.

Here, if some sudden joy delight inspire,

The dread to lose it damps the rising fire;

But There, whatever good the soul employ,

The thought, that 'tis eternal, crowns the joy!


Since o'er thy footstool here helow
Such heauteous gems are thrown,

O what magnificence must glow,
My God around thy throne!

So hrilliant here these drops of light,

There the full ocean rolls how hright!

If night's hlue curtain of the sky,
With thousand stars inwrought;—

Hung, like some royal canopy,
With glittering diamonds fraught.

Be, Lord, thy temple's outer veil,

What glory round the shrine must dwell

The dazzling son, at noontide hour,
Forth from his flaming vase,

Flinging o'er earth his golden shower.

Till vale and mountain hlaze;
But shows, O Lord, one heam of thine:

What then the day where thou dost shine I

Ah! how shall these dim eyes endure *

That noon of living rays 1
Or how my spirit, so impure,

Upon thy hrightuess gaze 1
Anoint, 0 Lord, anoint my sight,
And rohe me for that world of light I


1> Nature smiles e'en here helow, Where sin hath tarnish'd all with wo,

So heavenly sweet and fair;
With warhling hirds and hreathing flowers,
Hills, woods, and waters,—past the powers

Of mortals to declare:
O think! the scenery of that world,
(Eternity's dim curtain furl'd)

How heanteous, how suhlime!
What gardens there, what howers and vales,
What living streams, melodious gales,

To glad ilr immortal clime I

If looks, with snch a glorious glance,
Yon sun from yonder hlue expanse,

There's rapture in the sight;
If night's thick host so solemn gleam,
And the sweet moon o'er all doth stream

So exquisite a light: What light, what glory, must he there, What heavens, heyond our poor compare,

O'er-canopy th' ahode, Where neither day they know, nor night; For there the Lamh is all their light,

And all their glory, God I

If here so fair the forms we scan,
Of various life, and most of man,

So eloquent the eye;
Such grandeur, sprightliness, or grace,
Where Death hath seal'd the loveliest face

Whose smile e'er waked a sigh: How sweet, how glorious, to hehold Those hodies of celestial mould,

Without a speck, a taint!

Their eyes all sanctity and love,
Their wings all seraph-like,—ahove
The reach of thought to paint I

If darkly through a glass to see,
And know in part, thus infantly,

Such interests here convey;
If such a varied charm we find
In Newton's or in Milton's mind,

Grave thought, or fancy gay:
Oh, there in soul to ripen I oh
To see all face to face, and know

E'en as ourselves are known;
Spirit with spirit, mind with mind,
Uncloy'd, unclouded, uncontin'd;

Truth's universe our own I

If here the interchange of hearts
Such an all-healing halm imparts,

And love each sorrow cheers;
Where many a human fault alloys,
And partings hreak our social joys,

And smiles are mix'd with tears: Then, oh, where no farewells intrude, No selfish, no unkindly mood,

Their harmony to impair; Where all is loveliness and love; What pure, what deep content they prove,

What sweet communion there I

If where, around our holiest things,
Sin, viper-like, still creeps and clings,

And faintuess comes, and fear;
Yet faith can such a peace afford;
Hope, such a joy, to hrighten, Lord,

Thy distant dwellings here: Then think, where sin hath no control, Where faintuess ne'er weighs down the soul,

Where fear of change is o'er; Where faith, where hope, need no employ,— In God's own presence, think what joy,

Full and for evermore I

If here the toils, the thoughts, to note,
A Luther hore, a Leighton wrote,

Such calm delight we find;
The Church's history to peruse,
Attd, chief, on words of Jesus muse,

On Panl's or David's mind:
There, with those spirits to converse,
And hear them each with praise rehearse

Whale'er on earth they prov'd;

To see that Saviour as he is,
Yea, to he like him,—crown of hliss,—
Whom here, unseen, we lov'd I

If in our soul so sweet to trace
The impressions of supernal grace,

Imperfectly discern'd;
With eye so dim, through mist so dense,
To spell the lines of Providence

In mystic mazes twin'd:
Then, oh! to wituess, all unveil'd,
How wisdom, truth, and love ne'er fail'd I

How heanteous, when avow'd,
In grace, in providence, they work'd!
What heams of glory ever lurk'd

Behind the darkest cloud!

If hlest, in silence and apart,
Heavenward we pour out all the heart,

Its every joy or care;
If hlest, on festival divine,
Th' assemhled hrotherhood we join

In vocal praise or prayer:
What, with the inuumerahle throng
Of angels and redeem'd, the song

Of endless praise to pour;
And all the miracles we trace
In nature, lirovidence, or grace,

Euraptur'd still t' adore!

If, therefore, 'midst so much alloy,
There's so much heanty, so much joy,

In matter or in mind;
If, 'midst a world of sin-horn wo,—
These trouhled waters here helow,—

Such sweetuess oft we find;
What joy, what heanty must he there,
In soul, in sense,—heyond whate'er

Beanty or joy we call-;
Where in his glory shines the King,
Where Sows of hliss th' unsullied spring,

Source, centre, end of all!

These heavens, this earth, so fair to-day, Must, with a hideous crash, give way;

The fatal hour is sign'd; Must shrivel like a flaming scroll; And, where they fill'd the wondrous whole,

"Leave not a wreck hehind!" But never, through essential day, The new creation shall decay;

That world of love and truth

Is God-like all; it canuot die;
Impregn'd with immortality,
And ever-vernal youth.

Then, mortal, why on infant toys,
On shadowy cares, on meteor joys,

Should all thy soul he spent 1
Why, hlest and chasten'd, woo'd and aw'd ,
In these his works, forget thy God,

Thy home in this thy tent?
No, learn to look with faith serene
At things eternal, though unseen,

Eternal, undefiTd!
Like children, once, we thought, we spake;
But, grown to manhood, we forsake

The trifles of the child.


There is an hour of peaceful rest,.

To mourning wanderers given;
There is a joy for souls distress'd,
A halm for every wounded hreast—

Tis found ahove—in heav'n.

There is a soft, a downy hed,

'Tis fair as hreath of ev'n; A couch for weary mortals spread, Where they may rest the aching head,

And find repose, in heaven!

There is a home for weary souls,

By sin and sorrow driv'n; When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,

And all is drear hut heav'n!

There, faith lifts up her cheerful eye

To hrighter prospects giv'n;
And views the tempest passing hy,
The evening shadows quickly fly,

And all serene in heav'n 1

There fragrant flowers, immortal, hloom,

And joys supreme are giv'n:
There rays divine disperse the gloom:
Beyond the confines of the tomh,
Appears the dawn of heav'n.



There is a land where everlasting suns Shed everlasting hrightness—where the soul Drinks from the living streams of love, that

roll By God's high throne !—myriads of glorious

ones Bring their accepted offering: oh! how hlest To look from this dark prison to that shrine, To inhale one hreath of Paradise divine— And enter into that eternal rest Which waits the sons of God!


I Hear thee speak of the hetter land;;
Thou call'st its children a happy hand;
Mother! oh where is that radiant shore,—
Shall we not seek it and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange hlows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle
"Not there, not there, my child."

Is ii where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering

seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the hreeze, And strange hright hirds, on their starry

wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? ** Not there, not there, my child 1**

Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of

Where the hurning rays of the ruhy shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral

strand— Is it there, sweet mother, that hetter land? "Not there, not there, my child I"

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle hoy I Ear hath not heard its deep eongs of joy,

Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not hreathe on its fadeless hloom, For heyond the clouds, and heyond the tom b, It is there, it is there, my child!


Wo, and wailing shall he o'er, then;
Weeping shall he heard no more, then;
Let us quickly, sweetly soar, then,

To the land of the hlessed:
Not an eye shall shed a tear, there;
None shall feel a grief or fear, there;
Every face a smile shall wear, there,

In the land of the hlessed.

They, whose wounded, hleeding heart, here, Learn'd how hard it was to part, here, Hoped, amid the sharpest smart, here,

For the land of the hlessed: Softest zephyrs o'er them hlow, there; Streams of life immortal flow, there; Those they lost they'll love and know, there,

In the land of the hlessed.

Finest radiance smiling round them,
Still increasing joy hath found them,
Ever since death's angel crown'd them

For the land of the hlessed:
Wo and wailing shall he o'er, then;
Weeping shall he known no more, then;
Let us quickly, sweetly soar, then,

To the land of the hlessed.

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And thrills through every part the taintless

whole: The air, the soil, the rivers, fruits, and

flowers, Instinct with immortality, and tonch'd With amaranthine freshuess, hy the hand

That form'd them, and the heatific smife
That ever heams around them. Every heart
Catches that smile; each eye reflects it; all,
In hody and in spirit, surnless myriads,
Fill'd with empyreal vigour, filPd with God,
And radiant in the Glory of the Lamh!


E. c. xENt.

There is—there is a joy, though time should hring
Each fleeting moment change upon his wing;
The fair, the fond, the cherish'd should depart,
Hope's visions soothe, or torture wring the heart:
O! 'mid this world of sorrowing and mirth.
There is a joy—it is not of the earth!
There is a joy—it is not in the hreeze,
The fields, the flowers, the woodland harmonies,
The hright'ning heam of Summers gladden'd day,
Or hurst of splendor ere it fades away—
How heantifully fades! Then comes the night,
And heaven is filled with million gems of light.

There is a joy—it is not in the star

Tremhling in heanty o'er the hills afar!

There is a joy—it is not in the heam

The moon has pour'd o'er mountain, tower, and stream!

There is a joy—and 'tis not in thy song,

Bard of the night! though echo mocks thee long;

(Who hears and loves thee not?) nor in the hush—

The stilliness of night; nor in the hlush—

The loveliness of morn! For storm or calm,

Sorrow or mirth, there is a joy, a halm:

And where, oh I where are they? I turn to thee,

Thou hook of life, hope, love and liherty!

Gazing on thee, night's radiance waxeth dim,
Ev'n sadness mingles with the warhled hymn;
And yet whose strain was happier than the throng
Of the wild wood t—hut, hark! the seraph-song
Swells on my ear, in hlended harp and voice,
As on that night it hade the swains rejoice.
Lo! from its page another world appears,
Undimm'd hy griefs and unhedew'd with tears;
A hlissful world of harmony and peace;
For there all trouhling and all care shall cease;
There the rapt soul enjoy its day of rest—
One long, long day with endless glory hlest 1

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