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How sweet, while waning fast away
The stars of this dim world decay,
To see, prophetic of the day,

The golden dawn arise, my soul!
To feel we only sleep to rise
In sunnier lands and fairer skies,
To bind again our broken ties

In ever-living love, my soul!

The hour, the hour, so pure and calm,
That bathes the wounded soul in balm,
And round the pale brow twines the palm,
That shuns this wintry clime, my soul!
The hour that draws o'er earth and all
Its briars and blooms the mortal pall,--
How soft, how sweet, that evening-fall
Of fear, and grief, and time, my soul!

HEAVEN.

THEN never tear shall fall,

The heart shall ne'er be cold;

And life's rich tree shall teem for all
With fruit more "golden far than gold."

Then those we lost below

Once more we shall infold;

And there, with eyes undimm'd by wo,

The burning throne of God behold.

There the pure sun-bow glows,

Unaided by the shower;

No thorn attends the Elysian rose,
No shadow marks the blissful hour.

There roll the streams of love,

Beyond death's wintry power!

In light and song for aye they move,
By many a bless'd immortal's bower.

GOD SEEN IN ALL THINGS.

THOU art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from thee:
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.
When day with farewell beam delays,
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven,
Those hues that mark the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.

When night, with wings of stormy gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh,

And

every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye:
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

THE BEACON.

THE scene was more beautiful far, to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it:
The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it.

The murmur arose, as I silently gazed

On the shadowy waves' playful motion,

From the dim distant isle till the beacon-fire blazed,
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly breathed numbers;
The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers.

I sigh'd as I look'd from the hill's gentle slope;
And hush'd was the billows' commotion;

And I thought that the beacon look'd lovely as hope,
The star of life's tremulous ocean.

The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet, when my head rests on its pillow,
Will memory sometimes rekindle the star
That blazed on the breast of the billow.

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,

And death stills the soul's last emotion,

O then may the seraph of mercy arise
Like a star on eternity's ocean.

THE LILY.

I HAD found out a sweet green spot,
Where a lily was blooming fair;

The din of the city disturb'd it not,

But the spirit, that shades the quiet cot
With its wings of love, was there.

I found that lily's bloom

When the day was dark and chill:

It smiled, like a star in the misty gloom,
And it sent abroad a soft perfume,

Which is floating around me still.

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And watch'd it many a day :—

The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell,
Grew faint and dim, then droop'd and fell,
And the flower had flown away.

I look'd where the leaves were laid,
In withering paleness, by;

And, as gloomy thoughts stole on me, said,
There is many a sweet and blooming maid,
Who will soon as dimly die.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss, of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ?—
Tell me, my soul, can this be Death?

The world recedes, it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

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