CXLIV.

RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things

Towards heaven thy native place.
Sun and moon, and stars decay,
Time shall soon this earth remove;
Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepared above.

Rivers to the ocean run,

Nor stay in all their course :
Fire ascending seeks the sun,
Both speed them to their source.
So a soul that's born of God,
Pants to view his glorious face:
Upwards tends to his abode,
To rest in his embrace.

Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the prize:
Soon the Saviour will return
Triumphant in the skies.
Yet a season, and you know
Happy entrance will be given,
All our sorrow left below,

And earth exchang'd for heaven.

CXLV.

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad glidings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee!-but thou art not of those
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey!

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,

When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain

But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our path grow pale?
They have one season-all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth-and thou art there!

Thou art where friend meets friend
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

CXLVI.

KNELL of departed years,

Thy voice is sweet to me:

It wakes no sad foreboding fears,
Calls forth no sympathetic tears,
Time's restless course to see;
From hallowed ground

I hear the sound

Diffusing through the air a holy calm around.

Thou art the voice of love;

To chide each doubt away;

And as thy murmur faintly dies,
Visions of past enjoyment rise
In long and bright array,
I hail the sign

That love divine

Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine.

Thou art the voice of hope:
The music of the spheres,

A song of blessings yet to come,
A herald from my future home,
My soul delighted hears:
By sin deceiv'd,

By nature griev'd,

Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed.

Thou art the voice of life:

A sound which seems to say,

Oh prisoner in this gloomy vale,
Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart shall fail :
Yet fairer scenes thy spirit hail

That cannot pass away:

Here grief and pain

Thy steps detain,

There, in the image of the Lord, shalt thou with Jesus

reign.

THE END.