Like children for some bauble fair That weep themselves to rest; CONSOLATION FROM GOD'S VISIBLE WORKS. WITNESS Thou! O Mighty One! whose saving love has stolen Thy temple that the fountain's happy voice Hath sung Thy goodness; and Thy power has stunned My spirit in the roaring cataract! Oh! how oft In seasons of depression, when the lamp Of life burned dim, and all unpleasing thoughts Of human frailty turned the past to pain,- Of glory lay around me,- that a source And that no being need behold the sun And grieve, that knew WHO hung him in the sky! Thus unperceived I woke from heavy grief Near Mercy's throne, whether his course hath been IMMORTAL HOPES. O, WHAT were life, Even in the warm and summer light of joy, And O! without them who could bear the storms That fall in roaring blackness o'er the waters All round our sinking souls, like those fair birds, To some calm island, on whose silvery strand, THE EVENING CLOUD. A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, Leigh Hunt. 1784. SCENE. REFLECTIONS OF A SOUL ON DEATH. ·A female sitting by a bedside, anxiously looking at the face of her husband, just dead. soliloquizes. The soul within the dead body WHAT change is this! What joy! What depth of rest! What suddenness of withdrawal from all pain Into all bliss! into a balm so perfect I do not even smile! I tried but now, With that breath's end, to speak to the dear face Instead of toil, and a weak, weltering tear, I am all peace, all happiness, all power, Laid on some throne in space. Great God! I am dead. [A pause.] Dear God! Thy love is perfect; Thy truth known. [Another.] And He, and they! How simple and strange! How beautiful! But I may whisper it not, even to thought, Speak, and the world be shattered. [Soul again pauses.] O balm! O bliss! O saturating smile Unvanishing! O doubt ended! certainty Even its wings for heaven; - and thus to rest Here, here, ev'n here, - 'twixt heaven and earth awhile, A bed in the morn of endless happiness. I feel warm drops falling upon my face; My wife! my love! — 'tis for the best thou canst not Know how I know thee weeping, and how fond A kiss meets thine in these unowning lips. Ah, truly was my love what thou didst hope it, Poor sweet! thou blamest now thyself, and heapest I know the end, and how thou'lt smile hereafter. |