Page images
PDF
EPUB

CXLIV. Ebenezer Elliest

ANOTHER year is swallowed by the sea

Of sumless waves!

year, thou

Another year,

past Eternity!

Hath rolled o'er new-made graves.

They open yet to bid the living weep,

Where tears are vain;

While they, unswept into the ruthless deep,
Storm-tried and sad, remain.

Why are we spared? Surely to wear away,
By useful deeds,

Vile traces, left beneath the upbraiding spray,
Of empty shells and weeds.

But there are things which time devoureth not: Thoughts whose green youth

Flowers o'er the ashes of the, unforgot;

And words, whose fruit is truth.

Are ye not imaged in the eternal sea,

Things of to-day?

Deeds which are harvest for eternity,

Ye cannot pass away!

[blocks in formation]

For our eyes to see;
Prophet-bards, whose awful words

Shook the earth, "Thus saith the Lord,"
And made the idols flee-

A glorious company!

Call them from the dead

For our eyes to see:

Sons of wisdom, song, and power,

Giving earth her richest dower,

And making nations free

A glorious company!

Call them from the dead

For our eyes to see:

Forms of beauty, love, and grace, "Sunshine in the shady place,"

That made it life to be

A blessed company!

Call them from the dead

Vain the call will be;

But the hand of Death shall lay,

Like that of Christ, its healing clay

On eyes which then shall see

That glorious company!

CXLVI.

Robt Browning

I STOOP

Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud.

It is but for a time: I press God's lamp
Close to my breast; its splendours soon or late
Will pierce the gloom: I shall emerge some day.

[merged small][ocr errors]

ART thou not from everlasting to everlasting?
O God! mine Holy One!

WE SHALL NOT DIE.

CXLVIII. Jyn

DEATH is the shadow of life; and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So, in the light of great eternity,

Life eminent creates the shade of death;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But Love shall reign for ever over all.

CXLIX. Shakspeare.

THE cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;
And, like an insubstantial pageant faded,.
Leave not a rack behind.

We are such stuff

As dreams are made of; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

CL. Milton

To our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne
To Him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee;
Where the bright seraphim, in burning row,
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host, in thousand quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires;
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May rightly answer that melodious noise,
As once we did-

Oh, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with heaven, till God ere long To his celestial concert us unite,

To live with him, and sing, in endless morn of

light.

« PreviousContinue »