Among the restitutions in yon sphere, Things true positions take, so misplaced here; Rejoicing then in that unchanged repose If one too transitory lightning glance, With no brief rapture, makes the feelings dance, And why these momentary looks contain Words are too oft prepared or plann'd by art, 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, Alone, alone-no, let me think of Him Who lived a life of solitary woe Beyond the scope of mortal mind to know Thus some transplanted palm takes root in ground. Sees nought akin, no foliage of its race. When prostrate we gasp forth our last short breath, And earth's receding landscape fades away; Then sunlike myriads of the heavenly sky 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, A teeming growth of thorny shrubs The ripe and weighty boughs 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. |