TlilE. 45 



Embrace and weep, they weep the tears of joy. 

 The sainted mother wakes, and, in her lap, 

 Clasps her dear babe, the partner of her grave, 

 And heritor with her of heaven, — a flower 

 Wash'd by the blood of Jesus from the stain 

 Of native guilt, even in its early bud. 

 And hark ! those strains, how solemnly serene 

 They fall, as from the skies- at distance fail- 

 Again more loud ; the halleluiahs swell ; 

 The newly-risen catch the joyful sound ; 

 They glow, they burn : and now, with one accord, 

 Bursts forth sublime from every mouth the song 

 Of praise to God on high, and to the Lamb 

 Who bled for mortals. 



Yet there is peace for man. — Yea, there is peace. 

 Even in this noisy, this unsettled scene ; 

 When from the crowd, and from the city far, 

 Haply he may be set (in his late walk 

 O'ertaken with deep thought) beneath the boughs 

 Of honeysuckle, when the sun is gone. 

 And with fix'd eye, and wistful, he surveys 

 The solemn shadows of the heavens sail, 

 And thinks the season yet shall come when Time 

 Will waft him to repose, to deep repose, 

 Far from the unquietness of life — from noise 

 And tumult far— J3eyond the flying clouds, 

 Beyond the stars, and all this passing scene. 

 Where change shall cease, and Time shall be no more. 

 ♦ * * * 



