THE SPIRIT-LAND. FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand, JONES VERY. THERE IS A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT. There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers; Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood But timorous mortals start and shrink O, could we make our doubts remove, Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore. ISAAC WATTS. Within the brightness of thy face, And our soul In the scroll Of life and blissfulness enroll, BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies, That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah! There is a land where beauty never dies, JEREMY TAYLOR. Where love becomes immortal; A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, Whose fields are ever vernal; We may not know how sweet its balmy air, We may not hear the songs that echo there, Through those enchanted bowers. The city's shining towers we may not see For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key But sometimes, when adown the western sky Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, And while they stand a moment half ajar, O land unknown! O land of love divine! O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine "ONLY WAITING." ANONYMOUS. [A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing now. He replied, "Only waiting."] ONLY waiting till the shadows Only waiting till the glimmer Of the day's last beam is flown; From the heart, once full of day; Only waiting till the reapers Have the last sheaf gathered home, And the autumn winds have come. The last ripe hours of my heart, Only waiting till the angels Open wide the mystic gate, At whose feet I long have lingered, Weary, poor, and desolate. Even now I hear the footsteps, They'll home again, full laden, to thy door; The streams of love flow back where they begin, For springs of outward joys lie deep within. Even let them flow, and make the places glad Where dwell thy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be sad, And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear The music of those waters running near; And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream, And thine eye gladden with the playing beam That now upon the water dances, now Leap up and dances in the hanging bough. Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell The power that wrought so beautiful a spell? In thine own bosom, Brother? Then as thine Guard with a reverent fear this power divine. And if, indeed, 't is not the outward state, Man's varied powers and raise him from the brute. Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep? Thou "living dead man," let thy spirit leap Something of what is life, shake off this death; Nothing but leaves; memory weaves As we retrace our weary way, And shall we meet the Master so, ANONYMOUS. GREENWOOD CEMETERY. How calm they sleep beneath the shade The willow hangs with sheltering grace O weary hearts, what rest is here, For, O, it will be blest to sleep, Nor dream, nor move, that silent night, Till wakened in immortal strength And heavenly light! CRAMMOND KENNEDY. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. FATHER of all! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou great First Cause, least understood, To know but this, that thou art good, Yet gave me, in this dark estate, What conscience dictates to be done, |