And soon the earth will close o’er me, Yet mourn I not my life’s decline, Lord! pardoned—ransomed—saved by Thee, Living or dying—I am Thine! Oh! wherefore sigh For those who die In Christ? the forms that mouldering lie Shall burst the sod To meet their God. And mount with seraph wings on high! X. THE SECOND ADVENT. Now in the East Hope’s trembling light Proclaims a brighter dawning, Though woe endureth for a night, Joy cometh in the morning. For many weary ages past Hath sin’s dark night prevailing, A gloom o’er all the nations cast, Whence rose the sound of wailing. The idol-gods have many a shrine Where, bound in chains of error, Myriads shut out from light divine Crouch down in shame and terror. But in the East Hope’s rosy light Proclaims a brighter dawning; Though woe endureth for a night, Joy cometh in the morning. Pleasure has thrown her torches’ glare Upon a world benighted, And Science in the murky air Her glimmering tapers lighted; Some joys, like fireflies, played and glanced To mock our vain pursuing, And Folly’s meteors wildly danced Above the gulf of ruin! But in the East Hope’s purer light Proclaims a brighter dawning; Though woe endureth for a night, Joy cometh in the morning! Like Cynthia from her silver car, The Church could darkness brighten; Each high example, like a star, Shone forth to cheer and lighten. But I shall need nor star nor moon In that clear day before me, The Sun of Righteousness shall soon Burst forth in cloudless glory! Yes, in the East Hope’s kindling light Proclaims a brighter dawning; Though woe endureth for a night, Joy cometh in the morning! XI. HOPES THAT ABIDE. Earth’s bright hopes must fade, Not those which grace hath given; Joys were fleeting made, But not the joys of Heaven! Stars that shine above, And flowers that cannot wither, These are types of peace and love That shall abide for ever. Who that seeks the skies Would mourn earth’s pleasures blighted, Weep o’er broken ties Soon to be re-united? Blest e’en awhile to be In darkness and in sorrow, Assured we soon the dawn shall see Of an eternal morrow! XII. SOLDIER’S HYMN. There is a sword of glittering sheen,— All unite to defend the right! Its blade is bright and its edge is keen, But the wound it gives is a wound unseen,— And who would flinch in the glorious fight! There is a foe—a ruthless foe— Such unite to oppose the right; In secret ambush he croucheth low, And the blow he strikes is a deadly blow,— But flinch not we in the glorious fight!