CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 165 



At morning's light, Lord of all space, 

 I'll praise thee; and at close of even ; 



Then lend me. Lord, some ray of grace 

 To light my trembling steps to Heaven. 



RYAN. 



HOPE AT DEATH. 



Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers burn, 

 When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! 

 Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! 

 Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power ! 

 What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly, 

 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 

 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 

 The morning dream of life's eternal day 

 Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin ! 

 And all the Phoenix spirit burns within ! 



Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose, 

 The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 

 Yet half I hear the parting spirits sigh, 

 It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 

 Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun ! 

 Where Time's far wandering tide has never run ; 

 From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 

 A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 

 Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet long and loud, 

 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 

 While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 

 The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; 

 And like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 

 The roaring waves, and called upon his God, 

 With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 

 And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! 



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 ! 



