« ПредишнаНапред »
I HEAR thee speak of the better lands; They, whose wounded, bleeding heart, here, Thou call'st its children a happy band; Learn'd how hard it was to part, here, Mother! oh where is that radiant shore,
Hoped, amid the sharpest smart, here, Shall we not seek it and weep no more? For the land of the blessed : Is it where the flower of the orange blows, Softest zephyrs o'er them blow, there; And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle Streams of life immortal flow, there; boughs ?
Those they lost they'll love and know, there, “Not there, not there, my child."
In the land of the blessed.
Is it where the 'feathery palm-trees rise, Finest radiance smiling round them, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies, Still increasing joy hath found them, Or 'midst the green islands of glittering Ever since death's angel crown'd them seas,
For the land of the blessed : Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, Wo and wailing shall be o'er, then ; And strange bright birds, on their starry Weeping shall be known no more, thien; wings,
Let us quickly, sweetly soar, then, Bear the rich hues of all glorious things? To the land of the blessed.
“ Not there, not there, my child !"
Is it far away, in some region old,
GRINFIELD. And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral There God unfolds his presence, clouded strand
here, Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? And shines eternal day. All, all is there “Not there, not there, my child !" Bright effluence of the uncreated mind;
Infinite beauty, all! A vernal life, Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! A fire ethereal, un perceived itself, Ear hatb not heard its deep songs of joy, Felt in its glorious energy, pervades
And thrills through every part the taintless | That form'd them, and the beatific smile whole :
That ever beams around them. Every heart The air, the soil, the rivers, fruits, and Catches that smile; each eye reflects it; all, flowers,
In body and in spirit, sumless myriads, Instinct with immortality, and touch'd Fill'd with empyreal vigour, fill'd with God, With amaranthine freshness, by the hand And radiant in the Glory of the Lamb!
JOY OF HEAVEN ANTICIPATED.
E. C. KENT.
THERE is there is a joy, though time should bring
There is a joy-it is not in the star
Gazing on thee, night's radiance waxeth dim,
O! for that clime my pinions let me plume-
-This is the joy, young Isadore! believe,
VISION OF INFANTS IN HEAVEN. Came in mine ear, whose secret cells were
To entertain celestial harmonies ;
The small sweet accents of those little chilI saw them in white raiment crown'd with
Pouring out all the gladness of their souls On the fair banks of that resplendent river, In love, joy, gratitude, and praise to Him ;Whose streams make glad the city of our Him who had lov'd and wash'd them in his God
blood, Waters of life as clear as crystal, welling These were to me the most transporting Forth from the throne itself, and visiting strains Fields of a Paradise that ne'er was lost, Amidst the hallelujabs of all Heaven. Where yet the tree of life immortal grows, And bears its monthly fruits, twelve kinds Tho' lost awhile in that amazing chorus of fruit
Around the throne-at happy intervals Each in its season, food of Saints and Angels, The shrill hosannas of the infant quire Whose leaves are for the bealing of the Singing in that Eternal Temple, brought nations.
Tears to mine eye, which seraphs had been
glad Beneath the shadow of its blessed boughs That melted all my soul, when I beheld
To weep, could they have felt the sympathy I marked those rescued Infants, in their
How condescending Deity thus deigned schools
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings By spirits of just men made perfect, taught
here The glorious lessons of Almighty Love,
To perfect his high praise. The harp of Which brought them thither by the readiest
Had lack'd its least, but not its meanest string From the world's wilderness of dire tempta
Had children not been taught to play upon it, tions,
And sing from feelings all their own, what Securing thus their everlasting weal.
Nor angels can conceive of creatures, born Yea in the rapture of that hour, tho' songs Under the curse, yet from the curse redeem'd, Of Cherubim to golden lyres and trumpets, And placed at once beyond the power to fall. And the redeemed upon the sea of glass Safety which men nor angels ever knew, With voices like the sound of many waters, Till ranks of these, and all of those had fallen.
BLISS OF HEAVEN INEFFABLE.
Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
The year has seen Its round of seasons, has fulfilled its course, Absolved its destined period, and is borne, Silent and swift, to that devouring gulf, Their womb and grave, where seasons, months, and years, Revolving periods of uncounted time, All merge, and are forgotten.-Thou alone, In thy deep bosom burying all the past, Still art; and still from thine exhaustless store New periods spring, Eternity.-Thy name Or glad, or fearful, we pronounce, as thoughts Wandering in darkness shape thee, Thou strange being, Which art and must be, yet which contradict'st All sense, all reasoning,—thou who never wast Less than thyself, and who still art thyself Entire, though the deep draught which Time has taken Equals thy present store.—No line can reach To thy unfathomed depths. The reasoning sage Who can dissect a sunbeam, count the stars, And measure worlds, is here a child, And, humbled, drops his calculating pen. On, and still onward flows the ceaseless tide, And wrecks of empires and of worlds are borne Like atoms on its bosom.-Still thou art And He who does inhabit thee.
THE IMPORTANCE OF TRIFLES. Soothes not another's rugged path alone,
But scatters roses to adorn his own.
Small slights, contempt, neglect, unmixed
with bate, SINCE trifles make the sum of human things, Make up in number what they want in And half our misery from our foibles springs :
weight: Since life's best joys consist in peace and
These, and a thousand griefs minute as these, ease,
Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace. And few can save, or serve, but all can
please : Oh ! let th’ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence : Large bounties to bestow, we wish in vain, POWER AND GENTLENESS; But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.
OR THE To bless mankind with tides of flowing
CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET. wealth, With power to grace them, or to crown with
NOBLE the mountain-stream, Our little lot denies; but Heav'n decrees,
Bursting in grandeur from its vantageTo all the gift, of minist'ring to ease:
ground; The gentle offices of patient love,
Glory is in its gleam Beyond all flatt’ry, and all praise above; Of brightness ;-thunder in its deafening The mild forbearance of another's fault;
sound ! The taunting word suppress'd as soon as thought;
Mark, how its foamy spray, On these Heaven bade the sweets of life Ting’d by the sun-beams with reflected dyes, depend ;
Mimics the bow of day And crush'd ill-fortune when she gave a Arching in majesty the vaulted skies ;
friend. A solitary blessing few can find;
Thence, in a summer-shower, Our joys with those we love are intertwined; | Steeping the rocks around ;-Oh tell-nie And he whose wakeful tenderness removes
where Th’ obstructing thorn which wounds the Could majesty and power breast he loves,
Be cloth'd in forms more beautifully fair ?