Where were the goal, the triumph, the salvation, If then the Saviour's promise and example Let us not say, however fair the breast Of the green hill-side, where the graves are made, — "Here the beloved ones rest! "Here in this forest shade!" Distant, and yet how near! Where kindred spirits kindred joys pursue, In duties ever dear, Surprises ever new, They range from sphere to sphere Through all the fresh delights of God's eternal year! Nor are their human ties forgotten quite : With the strong will to see friends left behind Cometh a might Swifter than light, And they are here, though viewless as the wind; With privilege, at times, to interpose Between us and our woes. Since it is gain ineffable, to die Unto the mortal eye, What doth it matter to the spirit freed Remote from cities and from habitations, Here where the grateful trees and underwood Convert corruption's noxious emanations, Through Nature's wondrous alchemy, to good. Not a Necropolis, Rather a garden this! With sylvan alleys and enamelled banks And pines in plume-tost ranks. Here let the roses bloom! Here let the wild bee come To find the ground Heaped with such flowery wealth as bee ne'er found! But O, high-building Vanity! forbear To rear upon this spot th' o'ercostly pile! And trust thou unto watchful Nature's smile Then shall this be a Mount of Hope indeed, Robert Burns. 1759-1796. THE INNER LAW. THE fear o' hell's a hangman's whip, To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honor grip, Its slightest touches, instant pause Debar all side pretences; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear, And even the rigid feature; Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange When ranting round in pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded; Or if she gi'e a random sting, It may be little minded; But when on life we're tempest driven, CHARITY. THEN gently scan your brother man, One point must still be greatly dark, Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord-its various tone, Then at the balance let's be mute, What's done we partly may compute, A PRAYER, Under the pressure of violent anguish. O, THOU great Being! what Thou art Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Thy creature here before Thee stands, All wretched and distrest; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey Thy high behest. Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act O, free my weary eyes from tears, But, if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design, Then man my soul with firm resolves To bear, and not repine! |