We see not the glorious vision,
Nor the welcoming melodies hear,
That, from bowers of beauty Elysian,
Float tenderly sweet to thine ear;
Round us, lie Earth's desolate midnight,
Her winter-plains bare and untrod,—
Round thee, is the glad, morning sunlight
That beams from the City of God!
Our eyes have grown heavy with weeping,—
Thine, "the King in his beauty" behold
And thou leanest thy head on His bosom,
Like him, the beloved, of old;
The days of thy weeping are ended,
Thy sorrow and suffering done,
And angels thy flight have attended
To the side of the Crucified One.
On thy hearth-stone the ashes are fireless,
In thy dark home the lights never burn,
In thy garden the sweet flowers have perished,
To thy bower no song-birds return!
Yet a mansion of bliss glory-lighted,
Where anguish and death are unknown,
Where beauty and bloom are unblighted,
Henceforth is forever thine own!
Oh! joy for thee, glorified spirit!
With Jesus forever to be,
And with sinless and sainted companions
The bliss of His Paradise see!
Joy, joy!—for thy warfare is finished,
Thy perilous journeying o'er,
And, above the deep gloom of Earth's shadows,
Thou art dwelling in Light evermore!
AUTUMN AND WINTER.
I.
Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone—
Weep for her!
Calm, and gracious, and very fair,
With sunny robe and with shining hair,
And a tender light in her dreamy eye,
She came to earth but to smile and die—
Weep for her!
Nay, nay, I will not weep!
She came with a smile,
And tarried awhile,
Quieting Nature to sleep;—
Then went on her way
O'er the hill-tops grey,
And yet—and yet, she is dead, you say!
Nay!—she brought us blessings, and left us cheer,
And alive and well shell return next year!—
Why should I weep?
II.
Desolate Winter has come again—
Frown on him!
He comes with a withering breath,
With a gloomy scowl,
With a shriek and a howl,
Freezing Nature to death!
He stamps on the hills,
He fetters the rills,
And every hollow with snow he fills!
Frown on the monster grim and old,
With snowy robes and with fingers cold,
And a gusty breath!