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Among the restitutions in yon sphere,

Things true positions take, so misplaced here;
Where those unsuited live not side by side,
Where those well suited, unapart abide.

Rejoicing then in that unchanged repose
We shall enjoy fond tenderness with those
Whose worthiness commands our fixed esteem
To whom affection flows in unchecked stream.

If one too transitory lightning glance,

With no brief rapture, makes the feelings dance,
What joy to dwell with him or her who gave
The satisfying look, that knows no earthly grave!

And why these momentary looks contain
The rarest jewels of the heart and brain;

Words are too oft prepared or plann'd by art,
Looks are the unbidden movements of the heart.

What though, as some lone bird of heavy flight, Each dragging day moves on from morn till night, Until, like darkness o'er the wintry pole,

The sense of solitude enwraps the soul,

My Father's presence evermore is nigh,
Albeit his form escapes the mortal eye;
Standing beside me to sustain and cheer,
Albeit no footfall sounds upon the ear.

Alone, alone-no, let me think of Him
Who had not where to lay the weary limb;
Who vainly sought amid His own to find
Some true reflection of His holy mind.

Who lived a life of solitary woe

Beyond the scope of mortal mind to know
Like some secluded isle, around whose shore
The alien billows ever strike and roar.

Thus some transplanted palm takes root in ground.
Where lesser trees and paltry shrubs abound;
And as it skyward soars in power and grace,

Sees nought akin, no foliage of its race.

When prostrate we gasp forth our last short breath,
And the sole earthly comrade left is death;
While worldly splendours pale their parting ray,

And earth's receding landscape fades away;

Then sunlike myriads of the heavenly sky
Shall shine upon the glad astonished eye;
Where we shall no more mourn to be alone,

But know and love, as we are loved and known.

P

JERUSALEM.

AST is her day of pride,

Her hour of triumph o'er;

And Love's sweet flow'rets trampled on Shall blossom never more!

Never did morn so bright,

On earthly people dawn;

Never was love so passing great

Refused in hate and scorn.

Safe from the outer world

In well-prepared rich soil,

The Lord his vineyard garden placed,37

And spared not time nor toil.

He built a lofty tower,

From whence He might survey

The vine, and watch His handiwork

Advance from day to day.

Oft, oft, upon that vine

The Lord bent wistful eyes;

And fondly deemed from those choice roots

An Eden would arise.

Days into months were built,
The harvest time was o'er;

A teeming growth of thorny shrubs
His tending fingers tore.

The ripe and weighty boughs
That now and then He found,
Contrasted but more vividly
With barrenness around.

Without His guarding wall,

Without His care to bless,

Sometimes He found His well-known fruit

In rich wild loveliness.

Soon on the ancient trunk

Destruction's axe shall ring;

And from their nests the birds of joy

For ever shall take wing.

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