3 Ye, too, they gently say, Shall angels be; Ye, too, O brothers, From earth shall be free: Yet in earth's loved ones Ye still shall have part, Bearing God's strength and love To the torn heart. 4 Thus when the spirit, tried Tempted and worn, Finding no earthly aid, Heavenward doth turn,-- Come these sweet angel-tones, Falling like balm, And on the troubled heart Steals a deep calm. 359. C. M. Mrs. Miles. Foretaste of Heaven. 1 When, on devotion's seraph wing, The spirit soars above, And feels Thy presence, Father, Friend, God of eternal love! The joys of earth, how swift they fade Before that living ray, Which gives to the rapt soul a glimpse Of pure and perfect day! 2 A gleam of Heaven's own light, though now Its brightness scarce appears Through the pale shadows that are spread Around our earthly years; But Thine unclouded smile, O God! Fills that all-glorious place, Where we shall know as we are known, And see Thee, face to face. 360. S. M. Briggs' Coll. The Angels' Call. 1 Come to the land of peace! From shadows come away; Where all the sounds of weeping cease, And storms no more have sway! 2 Fear hath no dwelling here; But pure repose and love Breathe through the bright, celestial air The spirit of the dove. 3 Come to the bright and blest, Gathered from every land; For here thy soul shall find its rest, Amidst the shining band. 4 In this divine abode Change leaves no saddening trace; Come, trusting spirit, to thy God, Thy holy resting-place! 361. C. M. Briggs' Coll. A Vision of Heaven. 1 O, heaven is where no secret dread May haunt us by its power; Where from the past no gloom is shed Upon the present hour. 2 And there the living waters flow Along the radiant shore; The soul, now wandering here, shall know Its burning thirst no more. 3 The burden of the stranger's heart, Which here unknown we bear, Like the night-shadow shall depart With our first wakening there. 4 And, borne on eagle's wings afar, Free thought shall claim its dower, From every sphere, from every star, Of glory and of power. VIII. VARIOUS OCCASIONS. 362. P. M. Sterling. A Hymn of Morning. 1 Sweet morn! from countless cups of gold, Thou liftest reverently on high More incense fine than earth can hold, To fill the sky.