Upon the mountains are the feet of those
Who bear His tidings! From thy morn of youth,
For this were all thy journeyings; and the close
Of that long path, heaven’s own bright sabbath-rest,
Must wait thee, wanderer! on thy Saviour’s breast
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
THE TWO MONUMENTS.[428]
“Oh! bless’d are they who live and die like ‘him,’
Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourn’d!”
Wordsworth.