« FöregåendeFortsätt »
Thou into nothingness again must wend, When this vast world dissolves with fervent heat ;
His revolutions end, his cycle be complete.
And then shall follow an eternal day,
Illum'd by splendour far surpassing thine; For HE, who made thee, shall Himself display, And in the brightness of his glory shine,Absorbing all, and making all divine:
[fall; Before His throne the hosts of heaven shall And space itself shall be but as a shrine,
Where everlasting praises cannot pall,
Pour'd forth before THE LAMB, and GOD, the LORD OF ALL!
OH for the dreamless rest of those
That in the dust serenely sleep
That feel no more their own wild woes,
How blest are those that in the clay
The peaceful inmates of the grave.
Start at the dead man's passing knell.
Though whirlwinds wild o'er nature sweep,
Though there no coral lip be prest,
Though there no friendly hand shall shake
No tear-drops o'er the cold cheek start,
Oh for the dreamless rest of those
ON THE VANITY OF MONUMENTAL GRANDEUR.
Then, then indeed, urn, tomb, or marble bust By sculptor's art elaborately plann'd [dust, Would seem a debt due to their mould'ring Though time would soon efface the perishable trust.
But hoping, and believing; yea, through Faith, Knowing, because His word has told us so, That Christ, our Captain, triumph'd over Death, And is the first fruits of the dead below;
That he has trod for man this path of woe,
As if that "shadowy vale" supply'd no trace
Who wait the promise by the Gospel given,When the last trump shall sound-the trembling base
Of tombs, of temples, pyramids be riven, And all the dead arise before the hosts of Heaven! Oh! in that awful hour, of what avail Unto the "spiritual body" will be found The costliest canopy, or proudest tale Recorded on it?-what avail the bound
Of holy, or unconsecrated ground?
As freely will the unencumber'd sod
As pure its inmate rise, and stand before his God.
NIGHT is the time to rest;
How sweet when labours close,
To gather round an aching breast
The curtain of repose:
Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head
Night is the time for dreams;
The gay romance of life,
When truth that is and truth that seems
Blend in fantastic strife;
Ah! visions less beguiling far
Than waking dreams by daylight are!
Night is the time for toil;
To plough the classic field,
Night is the time to weep;
To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of memory, where sleep
Hopes that were angels in their birth,
Night is the time to watch;
On Ocean's dark expanse,
To hail the Pleiades, or catch
The full Moon's earliest glance, That brings unto the home-sick mind All we have loved and left behind.
Night is the time for care;
Brooding on hours mis-spent To see the spectre of Despair Come to our lonely tent;
Like Brutus midst his slumb'ring host, Startled by Cæsar's stalwart ghost.
Night is the time to muse;
Then from the eye the soul
Takes flight, and with expanding views
Descries athwart the abyss of night
The dawn of uncreated light.
Night is the time to pray;
Our Saviour oft withdrew
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
Night is the time for death;
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
Think of Heav'n's bliss and give the sign
THE God of nature and of grace
His goodness through the earth we trace,
Behold this fair and fertile globe,
Lift to the firmament your eye,