E’en like the vexing hum of some large street,

Where all is haste and hurry, tramp and strife,

In contrast with the unpolluted calm

Of some cathedral, when a spirit’s hush

Hath brooded—seems that worldlings’ noisy hour.

R. Montgomery.

How sweet, bow consoling, when seasons of gloom

Roll over the soul like the billowy spray,

To view in the mansions of Heaven a home,

Where sorrow and sighing shall vanish away.