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Awake, lift up thine eyes!
See, all heaven's hoft appears!
And be thou glad exceedingly, —
Thou who haft done with tears.

Ascend! thou art not now
With those of mortal birth;
The living God hath touched thy lips,
Thou who haft done with earth!

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BEYOND the hills where suns go down,
And brightly beckon as they go,
I see the land of far renown,

The land which I so soon mall know.

Above the diflbnance of time,
And discord of its angry words,

I hear the everlafting chime,
The mufic of unjarring chords.

I bid it welcome; and my hafte
To join it cannot brook delay ; —

O song of morning, come at laft,
And ye who fing it, come away!

O song of light and dawn and bliss,
Sound over earth, and fill these fkies,

Nor ever, ever, ever cease
Thy soul-entrancing melodies!

Glad song of this disburdened earth,
Which holy voices then fhall fing:

Praise for creation's second birth,
And glory to creation's King!

H. Bonar. 1856.


IT lies around us like a cloud, —
A world we do not see;
Yet the sweet clofing of an eye
May bring us there to be.

Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;

Amid our worldly cares
Its gentle voices whisper love,

And mingle with our prayers.

Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
Sweet helping hands are ftirred,

And palpitates the veil between
With breathings almoft heard.

The filence — awful, sweet, and calm —
They have no power to break;

For mortal words are not for them
To utter or partake.

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide,

So near to press they seem, — They seem to lull us to our reft,

And melt into our dream.

And in the hufh of reft they bring

'T is easy now to see
How lovely and how sweet a pass

The hour of death may be.

To close the eye, and close the ear,

Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And gently dream in loving arms

To swoon to that — from this.

Scarce knowing if we wake or fleep,

Scarce afking where we are, To feel all evil fink away,

All sorrow and all care.

Sweet souls around us! watch us ftill,

Press nearer to our fide,
Into our thoughts, into our prayers,

With gentle helpings glide.

Let death between us be as naught,

A dried and vanifhed ftream: Your joy be the reality,

Our suffering life the dream.

Mrs. H. B. Stmue. i860.

FOREVER with the Lord!
Amen! so let it be!
Life from the dead is in that word,
And immortality.

Here in the body pent,
Absent from Him I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.

My Father's house on high, Home of my soul! how near, At times, to faith's foreseeing eye Thy golden gates appear!

Ah! then my spirit faints
To reach the land I love,
The bright inheritance of saints,
Jerusalem above!

Yet clouds will intervene,
And all my pfospect flies;
Like Noah's dove, I flit between
Rough seas and ftormy fkies.

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