NIGHT had shed its darkness round me;
Wearied with the cares of day,
Rested I. Sleep's soft folds bound me,
And my spirit fled away.
As on eagle pinions soaring,
On I sped from star to star,
Till heaven's high and glistening portals
Met my vision from afar.
Myriad miles I hasted over;
Myriad stars I pass‚d by:
On and on my tireless spirit
Urged its ceaseless flight on high.
Planets burned with glorious radiance,
Lighting up my trackless way;
On I sped, till music coming
From the realms of endless day
Fell upon my ear,—as music
Chanted by celestial choirs
Only can,—and then my spirit
Longed to grasp their golden lyres
Stood I hear that portal wondering
Whether I could enter there:
I, of earth and sin the subject,
Child of sorrow and of care!
There I stood like one uncalled for,
Willing thus to hope and wait,
Till a voice said, "Why not enter?
Why thus linger at the gate?
"Know me not? Say whence thou comest
Here to join our angel band.
Know me not? Here, take thy welcome-
Take thine angel-sister's hand."
Then I gazed, and, gazing, wondered;
For 't was she who long since died,—
She who in her youth departed,
Falling early at my side.
"Up," said she, "mid glorious temples!
Up, where all thy loved ones rest!
They with joy will sing thy welcome
To the mansions of the blest.
Mansions where no sin can enter,
Home where all do rest in peace;
Where the tried and faithful spirit
From its trials finds release;
"Golden courts, where watchful cherubs
Tune their harps to holy praise;
Temples in which countless myriads
Anthems of thanksgiving raise."
I those shining portals entered,
Guided by that white-robed one,
When a glorious light shone round me,
Brighter than the noonday sun!
Friends I met whom death had severed
From companionship below;
All were there-and in each feature
Immortality did glow.
I would touch their golden lyres,
When upon my ear there broke
Louder music—at that moment
I from my glad vision woke.
All was silent; scarce a zephyr
Moved the balmy air of night;
And the moon, in meekness shining,
Shed around its hallowed light.
THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET.
WHAT though from life's bounties thou mayest have fallen?
What though thy sun in dark clouds may have set?
There is a bright star that illumes the horizon,
Telling thee truly, "There's hope for thee yet."
This earth may look dull, old friends may forsake thee;
Sorrows that never before thou hast met
May roll o'er thy head; yet that bright star before thee
Shines to remind thee "there's hope for thee yet."
'T is but folly to mourn, though fortune disdain thee,
Though never so darkly thy sun may have set;
'T is wisdom to gaze at the bright star before thee,
And shout, as you gaze, "There's hope for me yet."
SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE.
IT cannot be that thou art dead; that now
I watch beside thy grave, and with my tears
Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee;
I cannot think that thou art dead and gone;
That naught remains to me of what thou wert,
Save that which lieth here,—dust unto dust.
When the bright sun arises, and its rays
Pass noiseless through my chamber, then methinks
That thou art with me still; that I can see
Thy flowing hair; and thy bright glancing eye
Beams on me with a look none other can.
And when at noon life's busy tumult makes
My senses reel, and I almost despair,
Thou comest to me and I'm cheered again;
Thine own bright smile illuminates my way,
And one by one the gathered clouds depart,
Till not a shadow lies upon my path.
Night, with its long and sombre shadows, treads
Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod;
And, as our children gather round my knee,
And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught,
I cannot but believe that thou art near.
But when they speak of "mother," when they say
"'T is a long time since she hath left our side,"
And when they ask, in their soft infant tones,
When they again shall meet thee,—then I feel
A sudden sadness o'er my spirit come:
And when sleep holds them in its silken bands
I wander here, to this fair spot they call
Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold
Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh;
Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere,
And feel thou art not dead, but living there.
It is not thou that fills this spot of earth,
It is not thou o'er whom these branches wave,
These blooming roses only mark the spot
Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear
Amid immortal scenes.
Thou livest yet!
Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven;
Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use;
Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord;
Thy ears have listened to that song of praise
Which angels utter, and which God accepts.
THE FUGITIVES.
THEY had escaped the galling chain and fetters,
Had gained the freedom which they long had sought,
And lived like men-in righteous deeds abettors,
Loving the truth which God to them had taught
Some at the plough had labored late and early;
And some ascended Learning's glorious mount;
And some in Art had brought forth treasures pearly,
Which future history might with joy recount
As gems wrought out by hands which God made free,
But man had sworn should chained and fettered be.
They lived in peace, in quietness, and aided
In deeds of charity-in acts of love;
Nor cared though evil men their works upbraided,
While conscience whispered of rewards above.
And they had wives to love, children who waited
At eve to hear the father's homeward tread,
And clasped the hand,—or else, with joy elated,
Sounding his coming, to their mother sped.
Thus days and years passed by, and hope was bright,
Nor dreamed they of a dark and gloomy night.
Men came empowered, with handcuffs and with warrants,
And, entering homes, tore from their warm embrace
Husbands and fathers, and in copious torrents
Poured forth invective on our northern race,
And done all "lawfully;" because 't was voted
By certain men, who, when they had the might,
Fostered plans on which their passions doted,
Despite of reason and God's law of right;
And, bartering liberties, the truth dissembled,
While Freedom's votaries yielded as they trembled.
Shall we look on and bear the insult given?
O, worse than "insult" is it to be chained,
To have the fetters on thy free limbs riven,
When once the prize of Freedom has been gained.
No! by the granite pointing high above us,
By Concord, Lexington, and, Faneuil Hall,
By all these sacred spots, by those who love us,
We pledge to-day our hate of Slavery's thrall;
And give to man, whoever he may be,
The power we have to make and keep him free.
THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE.
WHAT shouts shall rise when earth shall hold
Its universal jubilee!
When man no more is bought and sold,
And one and all henceforth are free!
Then songs they'll sing,
That loud shall ring
From rock to rock, from shore to shore.
"Hurra!" they'll shout, "we're free, we're free,
From land to land, from sea to sea,
And chains and fetters bind no more!"
Let every freeman strive to bring
The universal jubilee;
All hail the day when earth shall ring
With shouts of joy, and men are free!