There is a voice, soft-breathing—still it floats—
In tones most musical it meets my ear:
List, ardent spirit, list—those airy notes
Are whispering that a brighter world is near—
Where does there aught remain to waken fear?
Chaotic darkness shall not be my fate-
Annihilation shall not be my share:
Angels of Hope and Peace! I see ye wait
On me, the white-robed heralds of a loftier state.
Oh, yes
! I felt it was not made for earth,
This chainless essence-this unfathom'd soul;
Oh, yes! I know some future second birth
Will bid it rise and soar beyond control.
Roll on, ye circling spheres! exulting roll—
Yet know ye have a period,—ye must shroud
Your brightness, and desert the starry pole;
While I, unbound-by mortal thrall unbow'd—
Shall find a home-my home-ecstatically proud.
My home!-no more an exile-oh, how blest
Beyond conception-day that knows no night—
Land of pure rapture-world of endless rest!
I come—a heavenward voice directs my flight—
Vanish, terrestrial visions, from my sight!
Burst, earthly bonds, that hold me from the sky!
Merge, heaven-born spirit, in the flood of light,
Furling thy pinions there, while He on high,
Thy God, shall crown thy brows with immortality!
LADY FLORA HASTINGS.
When Time's allotted course is done,
His wings unplumed, his hour-glass run,
May Day be merged in brighter day,
And fade in heaven's own light away;
And all Night's fairest visions be
Changed to more blessed reality!
Repose in guarded rest. Hope, in their grave,
Kindles her never-dying lamp, and throws
Upon their treasur'd dust a steady ray,
Full, full of immortality; and peace
Spreads motionless her silent pinions o'er
The consecrated soil, where angels keep
Their vigils, until time shall be no more.
Is that a death-bed where the Christian lies?— Yes, but not his; 'tis death itself there dies.
Death is the crown of life:
Were death denied, poor man would live in vain :
Were death denied, to live would not be life :
Were death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure; we fall, we rise, we reign! Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies,
Where blooming Eden withers in our sight;
Death gives us more than was in Eden lost.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When shall I die to vanity, pain, death?
When shall I die ?—when shall I live for ever?
How blest the righteous when he dies,
When sinks a weary soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves the expiring breast!
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.
The soul on earth is an immortal guest
Compell'd to starve at an unreal feast:
A spark that upward tends by nature's force,
A stream diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea,
A moment parted from eternity!
A pilgrim panting for a rest to come;
An exile anxious for his native home.
When nature sinks beneath disease,
And every earthly hope is fled,
What then can give the sinner ease,
And make him love a dying bed?
Saviour, Thy voice his heart can cheer—
He's blest e'en then if Thou art near !
Then let me die the death of those
Whom Jesus washes in His blood;
Who on His faithfulness repose,
And know that He indeed is God.
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson ting'd its braided snow,
Long had I watch'd the glory moving on,
O'er the still radiance of the lake below :
Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow,
Ev'n in its very motion there was rest;
While ev'ry breath of eve that chanc'd to blow,
Wafted the trav'ller to the beauteous west.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is giv'n,
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of heav'n;
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.
Soon rapt in visions of celestial joy,
While endless praises every tongue employ,
Our ransom'd souls, absorb'd in sacred bliss,
Shall see the great Redeemer as He is.
But first we must await the penal doom,
And bow unto the dark and silent tomb;
Death, the last foe, must first be overcome,
Ere we can gain our long-desired home.
No grief is there, no tears of sorrow flow,
No bitter mem❜ry of a world of woe;
No ills, no wrongs, immortal joys molest,
The wicked harm not, and the weary rest.
Oh, may we reach, this mortal conflict past,
On wings of faith, that glorious state at last ;
Kept by His might who triumph'd o'er the grave,
And died, the just, an unjust world to save.
Welcome sweet hour of full discharge,
That sets our longing souls at large,
Unbinds our chains, breaks up our cell,
And gives us with our God to dwell.
To dwell with God, to feel His love,
Is the full heaven enjoyed above;
And the sweet expectation now,
Is the young dawn of heav'n below.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow,
And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose
On cheek and lip; —he touched the veins with ice,
And the rose faded.-Forth from those blue eyes
There spoke a wishful tenderness,-
-a doubt
Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence
Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound
The silken fringes of their curtaining lids
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