III.

On earth, though we may wake, and smile With new-born joy, a little while,

And tears may tell our woe:

In heaven, who once with joy awake
Shall ever deepening bliss partake
As ages flow.

IV.

Who then that knows, and trusts an arm,
Mighty from every threatening harm
To shield him and to save,

Would shun the swift approching close
Of this frail being-and repose

Within the grave!

LXXVII.

THE SILENT OCEAN.

I.

He who has laid him down, at close of day,

Within some goodly ship that o'er the waves Of ocean makes her solitary way,

And from his pillow hears the tide that laves Incessantly the vessel's side, may tell How slight, betwixt him and the billow's swell, Appears the timber barrier that rejects

The beating surge, and from its might protects.

II.

There is another ocean :-'tis around

The soul's frail bark that floats upon the tide ; But vainly do we listen not a sound

Comes from the depths profound, as on we glide:

By day, by night, for ever, all is still
As the fair moon above the lonely hill:
The viewless angels silent pass us by,
Nor stir the ocean of eternity.

III.

What marvels else would wake us!

O how slight

All that divides from wondrous things would

seem!

How frailer than the plank which in the night

Is washed by ocean where the seamen dream! Yea, than the shell circling the tender bird Where all around with vernal life is stirred!

Fear passing thought might thrill us, and amaze, Lest the vast world concealed should burst upon our gaze.

IV.

Yet it will burst ere long: a scene untold,
And unconceived, will open on our view:
These slender frames will fail us--and behold,
The God that formed them!-with a retinue

Of holy seraphim, and holy men

In form resplendent as the Saviour, when,

Upon the mount, from out the o'ershadowing cloud, “This is my son beloved," a voice proclaimed aloud!

V.

A light, to which, though shining in his might,
The sun were utter darkness, will reveal
Scenes that shall fill with horror, or delight
To holy rapture, such as angels feel:
Truth shall be seen: visions shall pass away,
As midnight dreams before the morning ray;
And more than all was ever hoped or feared
Shall be from lips divine in one brief moment heard.

VI.

Depart from me, accursed!"-How fraught with

woe

Each word of that dread sentence !-far away From the one only fount whence good may flow,

What tongue can utter, or what heart can weigh

Aright the anguish!-'twere itself a curse,
Dismal, o'erwhelming, if alone; but worse
Shall yet be added to that sentence dire,

46

Depart from me, accursed, into eternal fire!”

VII.

The sleepless sufferer on a bed of pain

May count the hours until the morning light; And, hopeless if he be of cure, sustain

The better for the hope of change, the night : Even the iron tongue of time can tell

A tale to assuage the pangs it may not quell:
But what shall be that world of death where time
Is silent-dead in the eternal clime!

VIII.

Turn we from this dread depth of misery!Far other sounds may greet the ravished ear: "Ye blessed of my Father, come to me,

And be through ages everlasting near: Dwell in the mansions which for you were made Ere the foundations of the earth were laid; And their pure bliss by sweet experience prove, Whose home is heaven-and whose God is love."