168 GREAT BINDWEED. 



This woe-fraught world shall surely come again, 

 And take it for his own, and hurl from hence, 

 Those hated guests, twin brothers, death and sin. 

 And he, the foul one, who has reign'd long 

 Prince of the air, a murderer from the first. 

 But destined soon to quit the ransom'd earth. 

 And hear the shout that waits his hurling forth 

 To fire and chaos, and the pit that hath 

 No bottom where the foot may find a hold. 

 Oh then, loud songs shall burst from glade and 



glen ! 

 But not as now, matins and vesper songs. 

 Alone of birds, or whispering winds, or streams. 

 Heard loudest, when all sounds of life are still ; 

 Or, perhaps, a few lone voices chanting forth 

 His praise who made them, in few fanes at 



best ; 

 But songs displacing groans, and gladsome chaunts 

 Taking the place of wailings, and bright smiles 

 Instead of sighs ; and children's happy voices. 

 Blended with harpings loud, and songs of birds. 



