THINGS HOPED FOR.

49

With thee in view, the rugged slope
Becomes a level way,

Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,
And gladdened by thy ray.

With thee in view, how poor appear
The world's most winning smiles;
Vain is the tempter's subtlest snare,
And vain hell's varied wiles.

Time's glory fades; its beauty now
Has ceased to lure or blind;

Each gay enchantment here below

Has lost its power to bind.

Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!

And welcome sorrow too!

All toil is rest, all grief is gain,

With such a prize in view.

Come crown and throne, come robe and palm!

Burst forth glad stream of peace!

Come, holy city of the Lamb!

Rise, Sun of Righteousness!

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THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

When shall the clouds that veil thy rays

Forever be withdrawn?

Why dost thou tarry, day of days?
When shall thy gladness dawn?

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

THE star is not extinguished when it sets
Upon the dull horizon; it but goes
To shine in other skies, then re-appear
In ours, as fresh as when it first arose.

It

The river is not lost, when, o'er the rock,
pours its flood into the abyss below:
Its scattered force re-gathering from the shock,

It hastens onward, with yet fuller flow.

The bright sun dies not, when the shadowing orb
Of the eclipsing moon obscures its ray:

It still is shining on; and soon to us

Will burst undimmed into the joy of day.

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

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The lily dies not, when both flower and leaf

Fade, and are strewed upon the chill sad ground; Gone down for shelter to its mother-earth,

"Twill rise, re-bloom, and shed its fragrance round.

The dew-drop dies not, when it leaves the flower,
And passes upward on the beam of morn ;
It does but hide itself in light on high,

To its loved flower at twilight to return.

The fine gold has not perished, when the flame
Seizes upon it with consuming glow;
In freshened splendor it comes forth anew,

To sparkle on the monarch's throne or brow.

Thus nothing dies, or only dies to live:

Star, stream, sun, flower, the dew-drop, and the gold;

Each goodly thing, instinct with buoyant hope,
Hastes to put on its purer, finer mould.

Thus in the quiet joy of kindly trust,

We bid each parting saint a brief farewell;

52

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their dust
To the safe keeping of the silent cell.

Softly within that peaceful resting-place

We lay their wearied limbs, and bid the clay Press lightly on them till the night be past, And the far east give note of coming day.

The day of re-appearing! how it speeds!

He who is true and faithful speaks the word. Then shall we ever be with those we love

Then shall we be for ever with the Lord.

The shout is heard; the archangel's voice goes

forth;

The trumpet sounds; the dead awake and sing;

The living put on glory; one glad band,

They hasten up to meet their coming King.

Short death and darkness! Endless life and light! Short dimming; endless shining in yon sphere, Where all is incorruptible and pure ;

The joy without the pain, the smile without the

tear.

HORA NOVISSIMA.

FAR down the ages now,

Her journey well-nigh done, The pilgrim Church pursues her way, In haste to reach the crown.

The story of the past

Comes up before her view;

How well it seems to suit her still,

Old, and yet ever new.

'Tis the same story still,

Of sin and weariness,

Of

grace and love still flowing down

To pardon and to bless.

'Tis the old sorrow still,

The briar and the thorn;

And 'tis the same old solace yet—

The hope of coming morn.