If here they perished, in their being's germ, Here thought and aspiration had their term, Why should a giant's strength propel a worm?The dead the dead, There are no dead! The forms, indeed, did die, The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing, A DREAM OF HEAVEN. Lo, the seal of death is breaking, Eden opes her portals fair! Hark, the harps of God are ringing, There no more at eve declining, O'er the land of life and love; Heaven's own harvests woo the reaper, Heaven's own dreams entrance the sleeper, Not a tear is left the weeper To profane one flower above. No frail lilies there are breathing, There no sigh of memory swelleth, Hearts will bleed or break no more; Life's glad waves and golden shore. Oh, on that bright shore to wander, All we loved and lost to see, THOUGHTS FOR THE DEPARTED. THINK ever of the dead : When Spring is beautiful, when Summer shines, When the soft skies rose-mingled lustre shed, When autumn sunbeams kiss the purple vines, And when the snow-stars glisten - to them wing Thy gentlest thought; they filled thy life with spring. The glorious dwellers in yon peopled skies! Sweet inspirations of the pure and fair, They dwell with thee the dead: Pavilioned in the auroral tents of light; Their spheres of heavenly influence round thee spread, Their pure transparence veiling them from sight. Angelic ministers of love and peace, Whose sweet solicitudes will never cease. They strive with thee the dead: Spirit with spirit striving, heart with heart, They watch with thee the dead: Through the last agony, the doubt, the gloom, When Soul and Body are through pain unwed, And Night droops down the midnight of the tomb: And o'er the soul sense steals their wakening hymn, Familiar yet the song of Seraphim. They welcome thee the dead: The soft, sweet glow of those beloved eyes Balms each worn heart that long hath inly bled, And gives new glory to God's paradise! Love and remember them unseen, yet near, Their white feet guide thee to the immortal sphere! THE HAPPIER SPHERE. IF yon bright stars which gem the night, Whom death has torn asunder here, And leave this blighted orb afar But oh! how dark, how drear, how lone If wandering through each radiant zone, It cannot be ! each hope and fear That blights the eye or clouds the brow, Than this black world that holds us now ! When heaviest weighs life's galling chain; 'Tis heaven that whispers" dry thy tears The pure in heart shall meet again!" HOPE'S BRIGHTER SHORE. THRICE happy he whom through each devious path O! life may have its sorrows and its cares, Yet come they but from sin to purify; While Death itself, the power that never spares, Seeking a brighter shore! |