Would that the world could know and truly prize That which is great in the Creator’s eyes! The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store, Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more; Who feels his sins, his weakness, though his ways Be just and pure beyond all _human_ praise; Whose humble thoughts well with his prayer accord, “Have mercy upon me, a sinner, Lord!” Who, heir of an eternal, heavenly throne, Rests all his hopes on Christ, and Christ _alone_! Wisest of men—for he alone is wise; Richest of men—secure his treasure lies; Greatest of men—his mansion is on high; His Father—God; his portion—immortality! IV. A DREAM OF THE SECOND ADVENT. I dreamed that in the stilly hush of night— Deep midnight—I was startled from my sleep By a clear sound as of a trumpet! Loud It swelled, and louder, thrilling every nerve, Making the heart beat wildly, strangely, till All other senses seemed in hearing lost. Up from my couch I sprang in trembling haste, Cast on my garments, wondering to behold Through half-closed shutters sudden radiance gleam, More clear, more vivid than the glare of day! What marvel, then, that with a breathless hope That gave me wings, forth from my home I rushed, Though heaved the earth as if instinct with life, Its very dust awakening! Can it be— Is this the call, “Behold the Bridegroom comes!” Comes He, the long-expected—long-desired? Crowds thronged the street, with every face upturned, Gazing into the sky—the flaming sky— Where every cloud was like a throne of light. None could look back, not even to behold If those beloved were nigh; one thrilling thought Rapt all the multitude—“Can He be near!”