I long for thy divine abode,
Where sinless myriads dwell,
Who ceaseless sing thy boundless love,
And all thy glories tell.
XXXVI.
ONE WITH CHRIST.
(TO A CHRISTIAN FRIEND UNDER BEREAVEMENT.)
What though the dark cloud for a season doth hover,
O’er pleasures and prospects so humble as thine;
The joy of the past taken from thee for ever—
And thy faint heart tempted by grief to repine: