THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT.
Blessed are the living who see the light of salvation. They shall be as stars in the firmament, and shine forever and ever in the heavenly kingdom. They shall not visit the tomb of the departed without hope, nor mourn without consolation. They shall rejoice always in the hope of heaven.
Hast thou been to my grave? There no voice responds to thy mourning soul. Hast thou been weary with care? Thy care will not lift the burden from thy spirit. Where, then, wilt thou go? Go where the sunlight is unbroken by the intervening cloud of despair, and the song thou wilt hear, will be the song thou dost love.
Go, sister, not declining,
Till thy weary work is done;
Go, when thy soul is pining,
Oft, and bow before the throne
Of mercy, never tiring,
Of goodness forever free;
And let thy mind admiring,
Be warmed with charity:
There offer thy oblation,
Where misfortune claims thy aid
There seek the great salvation,
As thou and I oft have prayed.
LINES
TO A FRIEND FROM THE SECOND SPHERE.
Thou art weary, my friend, with earth’s fading toys;
Thou hast felt not the love of wisdom’s pure joys,
Nor seen the bright sunshine, in mercy untold,
Unfolding a beauty more precious than gold;
For the clear stream of truth rolls sweetly along,
Like notes on the wave of the seraphim’s song:
The minds I behold, are the friends I admire,
And the love which I feel, my soul doth inspire:
The song I have heard, is a song known to me,
More welcome its notes than the flute’s dulcet key:
More wondrous the wisdom, disclos’d by the star,
Revolving ’mid circles of systems afar,
Than the moonlight of mind, with works evermore
Conflicting with nature on error’s dark shore;
Or the dream of thy mind, or the fear of the knell,
Which comes to thy soul from the sad, tolling bell.
Away, far away, from my beautiful bower,
Thy strength thou art wasting with thy weary hour,
Where the sweet song of heaven dispels not thy fear,
Nor the angels of mercy away chase thy tear;
Though one thou hast lov’d with the love of true joy,
Would welcome thee upward to sweeter employ.
Away then, dear friend, away with thy sadness,
The bright morning dawns with hope of true gladness;
And the one thou hast lov’d is not far away;
But is near thee to bless, by night and by day.
The following article was written by a spirit, with the hand of Mrs. Charlotte M. Cavan, of this city, who has kindly consented to its publication. The spirit designed to make her speak as she felt, and to represent her condition.