In majesty. She doth arise and shine,
As if her Light were come! Behold the Cloud
Of Glory over her, from line to line,
Terrace and Temple, doth descend and shroud!
From the sublime o'ercanopying sky
To her foundations, gloriously endowed
With beauty as a Bride,.. of Deity
The Bride. How beautiful in her array
The City of our God, who from on high
Sheds o'er her walls his everlasting day!
Her golden Streets we shall revisit still,
And in her Temple Sacrifices pay.
Who shall, oh God! ascend thy holy hill?
E'en he whose hands are clean, whose heart is pure,
Faithful of Word, and dutiful of Will.
Lift up your heads, ye Gates that long endure!
The King of Glory comes victoriously!
Who is the King of Glory? He, besure,
The Lord, renowned in battle! This is he!
Lift up your heads, ye Gates! He stands before
Oh ye æonian Gates, uplifted be,
And make to him wide entrance whom adore ye
Who is the King ye herald? Who but he
The Lord of Hosts? Who else is King of Glory?"
Now, by one Spirit moved, that Company,
Doth from the mountains to the plain descend;
Multitudes, multitudes, successively,
Successively, increase, and still extend,
All people, and all tongues, along the plain,
Huge continent, yet thronged. As friend with friend,
They walk in order, and degree maintain
Throughout incalculable multitudes,
Still onward-onward—a majestic train-
'Till they, on either bank of the four floods,
Whose pleasant rivers through the mighty meads,
Flow on, and fertilize far fields and woods,
Divide in companies, and each proceeds
Along a musical and winding shore,
And follows pensively where'er it leads;
But at the confluence of the Streams, before
The City, where they enter, in one sea,
The Paradise of God, unite once more.
There, met on either marge, right joyfully
They hail the sacred ramparts, and behold The Hosts of Heaven again watch over thee, Celestial City! and thy gates unfold
For ever, yet nought enters to defile,
And Michael hovers o'er thee, as of old.
So wend they on, not without Song the while.
THE SOMETIME DISOBEDIENT.
THE Good die young, yet have not lived in vain; For Wisdom is the grey hair unto men,
A spotless Life old age: how great their gain!
Beloved of God, oh, most beloved then;
Translated from amidst a sinful race,
Soon perfect, why should they be proved agen?
So Enoch walked with God, and saw His face,
For God esteems His Chosen, and His Saints
Shall seek and find His mercy and His grace.
The People saw, but held in base restraints,
They understood not, how He will reward
Love that fears not, and Faith that never faints.
Ye understood not, or did not regard,
Who from yon Hill of Speculation came,
Patriarch and Sage, with Prophet, Priest and Bard,
Old men and young, by Beauty set-aflame,
From the voluptuous Daughters of the Plain,
Each heart devote on its selected Dame,
Though Lady of the Line of cursed Cain.
Musick and Song delight the Ear..the Eye
Is ravished with the Dance though graceful, vain—
Vain, idle, tempting Lust with Melody
And Motion exquisite, lures for the sense,
Nor fraught with ill if tempered holily.
But oft with these the Hours of Sin commence,
And from her Mount of Vision drag the Soul,
To waste her strength in wanton feculence.
Sin grows gigantick; Force, without control,
Usurps the Seat of Justice. Evil thrives
From length of years, and reaches its far goal.
Oh! heaven-born Science! what of thee survives?
Ill only, all the Good is purged away—
Knowledge but from the Visible derives
The intellectual elements, that may
Inflate, but can not fatten, whom they feed;
And demon-pride pervades the night and day,
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