THINGS HOPED FOR. 49 With thee in view, the rugged slope Smoothed by the magic of thy hope, With thee in view, how poor appear Time's glory fades; its beauty now 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! 50 THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. When shall the clouds that veil thy rays Forever be withdrawn? Why dost thou tarry, day of days? THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. THE star is not extinguished when it sets 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. 51 The lily dies not, when both flower and leaf 'Twill rise, re-bloom, and shed its fragrance round. The dew-drop dies not, when it leaves the flower, To its loved flower at twilight to return. The fine gold has not perished, when the flame 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, 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 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. |