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Death held not Deity,

Immanuel rose again;
Now o'er the darksome tomb,

The couch on which He lay,
Lo, Resurrection pours

Floods of undying Day;
Say! is not Music there

Where Light and Life are shed?
Yes! and mankind shall share

Those strains, when worlds have fled.


They have built ye firmly, frowning walls!

With the iron and the stone;
And cheerless is your prison house,

Where the wretch may sigh alone.

Unto the lost one, here, may years

Of grief unnoted roll;
Thou art, unsated sullen tomb!

The Bastile of the soul,


your cold damp-dripping cell,
Unseen by human eye,
Methinks 'tis horrible to dwell,
Less dreadful 'twere to die.

To know that the bright blessed sun,

It was not mine to see; That spring should bloom and summer smile,

Yet bloom nor smile for me

To listen for the voice, or tread

Of man, yet list in vain;
Thoughts of the dying and the dead,

Than these, were lesser pain.

Yet to the lost, abandoned one,

Cast out, yea spurned of all,
O’er whose fond hopes and early dreams

Despair has flung its pall

To him, the dead, is life revealed,

His dungeon-walls are heaven, When Mercy, breaking through the gloom,

Whispers, “ Thou art forgiven!”


My child! my child! I love to see

Thy careless step, as thou
Rejoicest in thy infancy,

And infant beauty now.

My child! my child! thy pleasant way

Is garnished o'er with flowers;

And thine, as thou pursuest thy play,

Are young life's truest hours.

They fly!--they fly!-how soon the doom

Is thine, to welcome wo;And childhood's flowers and childhood's bloom,

How soon the worm will know!

Perhaps 'twill be thy lot severe,

To stem dark sorrow's wave; And pass—no earthly solace near-

To an untimely grave;

To tread, in tears, the weary way,

Thou sawest beloved ones tread; Thy aching brow with theirs to lay,

Where tears no more are shed.

Or to thy God, in early years,

Perhaps thou’lt yield again, -Baptized in prayer and holy tears

Thy soul, without a stain.

To slumber where thy brothers lie,

-One turf above the four-
To bathe in glory where they fly,

And joyfully adore.

Yet, freed from sorrows scarcely felt,

And spared life's dreary doom, Oh, who, in bitterness, e'er knelt

Beside an infant's tomb?

To think, for recollected sin,

It ne'er shall give the sigh;
To know that pure and precious gem

Is treasured in the sky.

These may betide-beyond the veil

That He hath round thee thrown, Shall dart no bright and searching beam

Of prescience but his own,

Then be it thine, an early flower,

To blossom for the grave;
Or thine to yield, in later hour,

Fair bloom to Him who gave:

Enough-lives not the promise now?

Oh God! when storms grow wild, And earth's proud expectations bow,

Thou'lt keep it to my child,


I GRIEVE not Heaven to thee denies

The attribute of speech,
When reading in those kindling eyes,

All that the mind can teach;
I grieve not no assuring tone

Of love, bids thee rejoice;
Thou favoured one! to thee is given

The Spirit's soothing voice,

I grieve not that to thee life's scroll

-Such is the Eternal's willIs unrevealed, thy gentle soul

Reads not that page of ill; 0, gentle maiden! trace not thou

Those characters of fire; They tell of wrongs, of bitter strife,

And blight of fond desire.

The flickering light that gilds our day,

On thee may never shine,
I grieve not, -yonder steady ray

Of peace, is ever thine;
And pure and tranquil is that rest,

Where thought, untroubled, flows, As waveless ocean, on whose breast

The moon-beam seeks repose.

Shut out from scenes of feverish joy,

Removed from grovelling sense, o, how sublime is thy employ,

With high Omnipotence!
Far from the din of this low sphere,

Its smiles, or frequent wo,
Thou hearest a voice we cannot hear,

Of themes we cannot know.

Thou drinkest of the crystal well,

Whence living knowledge flows; Yet on that fount is laid the spell,

That shuts up human woes;

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