And still the same rich feast was spread For my insensate heart! Not always so I woke again To join Creation's rapturous strain, "O Lord, how good Thou art." The clouds drew up, the shadows fled, Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo! death doth keep his state; That pavement, damp and cold, One silent woman stands, Lifting, with meagre hands, No mingling voices sound- A sob suppressed — again That short, deep gasp, and then The parting groan. Oh! change-Oh! wondrous change— Burst are the prison bars This moment, there, so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars! Oh! change stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod; The Sun eternal breaks The new immortal wakes Wakes with his God! LIFE AND DEATH. Он, fear not thou to die! Far rather fear to live, for life Hath thousand snares thy faith to try, Brief is the work of death, Oh, fear not thou to die! No more, to suffer or to sin; No snares without thy faith to try, But fear, oh rather fear, The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From Heaven thy heart to wean. Fear lest, in evil hour, Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome, By clouds that in the horizon lower, Which over earth and Heaven Oh, fear not thou to die! To die, and be that blesséd one Who in the bright and beauteous sky May feel that never more The tear of grief, of shame, shall come For thousand wanderings from the power Who loved and called him home. THE INFANT'S REMOVAL. GOD took thee in his mercy, A lamb untasked, untried; He fought the fight for thee, He won the victory, And thou art sanctified! I look around and see The evil ways of men ; And, O beloved child! I'm more than reconciled To thy departure then. Now, like a dewdrop shrined Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove, Safe with the Source of love, The Everlasting One. John Wilson. 1789. MAGDALENE'S HYMN. FROM "THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE." THE air of death breathes through our souls, The face that in the morning sun We thought so wond'rous fair, Hath faded, ere his course was run, Beneath its golden hair. I see the old man in his grave, I see the child's bright tresses wave |