A _cloud_ lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow, Long had I watch’d the glory moving on, O’er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seem’d, and floated slow, Even in its very motion there was rest, While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. _J. Wilson._ See’st yon light _cloud_, the wind is hurrying by? The eagle’s scarce more rapid in his flight, ’Tis thus the years of youth,--hope--rapture fly, Clad in attractive hues and robes of light, Swiftly they fly, but ah! a weary night Their reign succeeds--a more than midnight gloom, That gives no peace to morn’s uprising bright, Nor bids sweet Hope her wonted smile resume. Ah! yes; though dark our night and drear the tomb, Through its long vista, lo! the glorious star, Whose rays from heaven’s bright vestibule illume Death’s deepest vaults with radiance from afar, Sun of immortal day! victorious faith Eyes thy uprising blaze, and triumphs over death. _G. M. J._ I asked the _clouds_, in their pomp of light, As they sat in the crimson west at night, Wherefore they gathered around the sun, And brightened although his race was run; When, perhaps, the breezes of night might strew Their fragile folds into mist and dew? The _clouds_ replied, “Though we should be driven Away from our rest, we shall still be in heaven.” _M. A. Browne._ When gathering _clouds_ around I view, And days are dark, and friends are few; On Him I lean, who not in vain Experienced every human pain: He sees my wants, allays my fears, And counts and treasures up my tears. And, oh! when I have safely past Through every conflict--but the last; Still, still unchanging, watch beside My dying bed,--for thou hast died. Then point to realms of _cloudless_ day, And wipe the latest tear away. _Grant._ See where yonder _cloudlet_ lingers On the tranquil verge of day; The golden sunset with its fingers, Gilds it with its burnished ray; Swiftly, calmly, on it glides, Mingling, melting, into air, Fainter, fainter--now it hides In the bosom of its lair.