W. L. Bowles.
Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o’er—the pangs of nature close,
And life’s last rapture triumph’s o’er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,