HYMN OF THE ANGELS.
O Sacred Presence! Life Divine!
We rear for thee no gilded shrine—
Unfashioned by the hand of Art,
Thy temple is the child-like heart.
No tearful eye, no bended knee,
No servile speech we bring to Thee;
For thy great love tunes every voice,
And makes each trusting soul rejoice.
Then strike your lyres,
Ye angel choirs!
The sound prolong,
O white-robed throng!
Till every creature joins the song.
We will not mock Thy holy name
With titles high, of empty fame,
For Thou, with all Thy works and ways,
Art far beyond our feeble praise;
But freely as the birds that sing,
The soul’s spontaneous gift we bring,
And like the fragrance of the flowers,
We consecrate to Thee our powers.
Then strike your lyres,
Ye angel choirs!
The sound prolong,
O white-robed throng!
Till every creature joins the song.
All souls in circling orbits run,
Around Thee as their central sun;
And as the planets roll and burn,
To Thee, O Lord! for light we turn.
Nor Life, nor Death, nor Time, nor Space,
Shall rob us of our name or place,
But we shall love Thee, and adore
Through endless ages—Evermore!
Then strike your lyres,
Ye angel choirs!
The sound prolong,
O white-robed throng!
Till every creature joins the song.
GONE HOME.
They called her, from the better land,
And one bright spirit led the way;
She saw the angel’s beckoning hand,
And felt she could no longer stay.
O white-robed Peace! thy gentle cross
Gave to her trusting heart no pain,
And that which is our earthly loss,
Is unto her, eternal gain.
“God is a Spirit”—we can trust
That she has left earth’s shadows dim,
And laid aside her earthly dust,
To grow in likeness unto Him.
“God is a Spirit”—“God is Love”—
And closely folded to his breast,
Her spirit, like a tender dove,
Shall in His love securely rest.
O, it was meet that flower-wreathed Spring,
With forms of living beauty rife,
Should see the perfect blossoming
Of this bright spirit into life.
The flowers will bloom upon her grave,
The holy stars look down at night,
But where bright palms immortal wave,
She will rejoice in cloudless light.
O, sweeter than the breath of flowers,
Or dews that summer roses weep,
Deep in these loving hearts of ours
Her blesséd memory we will keep.
Bright spirit, let thy light be given,
With tender and celestial ray,
Beaming like some pure star from heaven,
To guide us in our earthly way.