E'en the last parting earth can know,
Brings not unutterable woe
To souls that heavenward soar;
For humble faith, with steadfast eye
Points to a brighter world on high,
Where hearts that here at parting sigh,
May meet to part no more.
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the moon,
Which thro' that veil is indistinctly seen;
A dull contracted yielding light,
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground-from rock, plant, tree, or
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up-the clouds are split
Asunder,—and above his head he sees
The clear moon, and the glory of the heavens-
There in a black-blue vault she sails along;
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives; how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not! The wind is in the tree,
But they are silent ;-still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens in unfathomable depth.
At length the vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.
FROM "HYMN TO THE ETERNAL LOVE."
O ANCIENT night! though to thy sway is given
The empire of the earth, thy sceptre points to heaven!
Thou stern and gloomy monarch, thou art still
But a poor slave to thy great Master's will;
Which hath decreed thy shadowy realms to be
Mankind's sole passage to eternity:-
Dost thou not sigh, to see the imprisoned soul
Pass the dark portals of thy solemn goal?
To see death execute the voice of love,
And the freed spirit rise to light above?
What though, regardless of love's ancient laws,
Deaf to the harmony of the eternal cause,
When we should most rejoice, we sigh forlorn,
Nor see in night the harbinger of morn,-
Yet not the less, O night, thy solemn end
I view with inward joy, and hail thee friend;
And bless the shadow of thy gloomy wings,
Which o'er the soul its needful shelter flings,
Till faith, meek nurse, hath taught the infant sight
To gaze undazzled on the stream of light;
And bright beyond the reach of thought to see
The unveiled shrine of light, and love's pure harmony.
O Love! men shrink beneath thy starry gaze
Dazzled, they shun the ardor of thy rays!
Though beaming but affection's holy light,
And with intensity of good-will bright;
Self-urged, self-fettered, with their kind at strife,
They waste in cares the blessedness of life;
Nor hear thy music breathe its solemn sound,
Nor feel thy mighty harmonies around.
Though hill and dale re-echo at thy voice,
And tuneful streams thee own with grateful noise;
While happy winds wave glad their whispering wing,
And to the listening grove thy praises sing:
And Nature's mighty heart leaps up to prove
Thy brooding influence and thy quickening love.
Hidden alas! to sin's o'er-clouded eyes,
The power celestial of self-sacrifice,
The angel-strength of charity to raise,
Even to heaven's high clime the soul's adoring gaze!
When for the cycle of self-care above,
The heart grows glorious with the fire of love;
While wisdom cries aloud that life alone
Exists with other life in union ;
That he who strives in earnest to be free,
Must conquer self to win true liberty;
Must know self-life to be an empty dream,
Except when one with love's wide will supreme!
Spirit of Love! not thine the gloss of art,
Thine only temple is the upright heart,
The only shrines thy glory deigns on earth,
Are the sweet smiles of holy thoughts the birth!
Dear Love! with smiles thou" winn'st thine easy way,"
To the bright hearts that haste to own thy sway;
Ruler of gentler spirits, ever seen
To rest their wearied wings when sounds thy voice
So when the sun sheds forth diviner ray
Of deepening splendor o'er the azure day,
The wandering hosts of purer vapor seem
Awe-bound beneath the glory of his beam,
Bathing their golden wings in that ethereal stream!
George A. Wingfield.
A CRUST of bread, a pitcher of water, a thatched roof and love; there is happiness for It is you, whether the day be rainy or sunny. the heart that makes the home, whether the eye of the stranger rest on a potato-patch or a flower-garden. Heart makes home precious,
and it is the only thing that can.
A voice within us speaks that startling word
Man! thou shalt never die! Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls; according harps
By angel-fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality.
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn universal song.
-O listen, ye, our spirits! drink it in
From all the air! "Tis in the gentle moonlight;
"Tis floating midst day's setting glories; night,
Wrapt in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears;
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen living hand, and conscious cords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.
-The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony!
THE soul of a true Christian appears like such a little flower as we see in the spring of the year; low and humble on the ground; opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly, in the midst of other flowers round about; all in like manner opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the sun.
IF in a field I meet a smiling flower,
Methinks it whispers, "God created me,
And I to Him devote my little hour,
In lonely sweetness and humility."
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