Sourceless and endless God! compared with Thee, Life is a shadowy momentary dream ; And time, when view'd through Thy eternity, Less than the mote of morning's golden beam. THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT SINAI. I SEEK the mountain cleft: alone I seem in this sequester'd place :- My heart perceives his presence nigh, LOVE is that name-for "God is Love." I worship.-Lord, though I am dust Be thou my strength;-in thee I trust,- Hither, of old, the Almighty came: Clouds were his car, his steeds the wind; Before him went devouring flame, And thunder roll'd behind. At his approach the mountains reel'd," Like vessels, to and fro; Earth, heaving like a sea, reveal'd The gulfs below. Borne through the wilderness in wrath, He smote the rock, and, as he pass'd, The fire, the earthquake, and the blast, ETERNAL UNION OF FRIENDS. If high that world, which lies beyond The eye the same, except in tears— It must be so: 't is not for self That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf, Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs. POWERS OF THE DISEMBODIED SPIRIT. WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, It cannot die-it cannot stay, But leaves its darkened dust behind. By steps each planet's heavenly way Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing all— In one broad glance the soul beholds, Before Creation peopled earth, y? Its eye shall roll through chaos back; Its glance dilate o'er all to be, Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. THE GRAVE. THERE is a calm for those who weep; Low in the ground. The storm that wrecks the winter sky, I long to lay this painful head, From all my toil. The grave, that never spake before, Be silent, pride! Art thou a mourner? hast thou known Endearing days, for ever flown, And tranquil nights? O live! and deeply cherish still Though long of winds and waves the sport, Seek the true treasure, seldom found, Whate'er thy lot—where'er thou be— A bruised reed he will not break, He wounds them for his mercy's sake, Humbled beneath his mighty hand, Now, traveller in the vale of tears, Through time's dark wilderness of years, Pursue thy flight. |