Beyond the clouds, away In the dim distance, lay A bright and golden shower At sunset's radiant hour,-- Like to the soul's glad immortality, Making this life divine, Making its waters wine, Giving the glory that eye cannot see. In God there is no night,-- Truth is eternal light, A help forever near; For sinless sense is here In Truth, the Life, the Principle of man. Away, then, mortal sense! Then, error, get thee hence, Thy discord ne'er in harmony began! Immortal Truth,--since heaven rang, The while the glad stars sang To hail creation's glorious morn-- As when this babe was born, A painless heraldry of Soul, not sense,-- Shine on our 'wildered way, Give God's idea sway, And sickness, sin, and death are banished hence. Lynn, Mass., _April, 1871_. "_THE LIBERTY BELLS_" This is the hour they then foretold-- When earth, inebriate with crime, Laughed right to scorn, and guilt, grown bold, Knelt worshiping at mammon's shrine. This is the hour! Corruption's band Is driven back; and periled right, Rescued by the "fanatic" hand, Spans our broad heaven of light. Righteousness ne'er--awestruck or dumb-- Feared for an hour the tyrant's heel! Injustice to the combat sprang; God to the rescue--Liberty, peal! Joy is in every belfry bell-- Joy for the captive! Sound it long! Ye who have wept fourscore can tell The holy meaning of their song. 'Tis freedom's birthday--blood-bought boon! O war-rent flag! O soldier-shroud! Thine be the glory--nor too soon Is heard your "Cry aloud!" O not too soon is rent the chain And charter, trampling right in dust! Till God is God no longer--ne'er again Quench liberty that's just. Lynn, Mass., _February 3, 1865_. "_MEMENTO_" Respectfully inscribed to my friends in Lynn. I come to thee O'er the moonlit sea, When the hoarse wave revisits thy shore! When waters shout, And the stars peep out, I am with thee in spirit once more. Then list the moan Of the billows' foam, Laving with surges thy silv'ry beach! Night's dewy eye, The sea-mew's lone cry, Witness my presence and utter my speech. Pleasant a grave By the "Rock" or wave, And afar from life's turmoil its goal. No sculptured lie, Or hypocrite sigh, E'er to mock the bright truth of the soul. Friends, will not ye Think kindly of me, In those moments to memory bestowed? Smile on me yet, O blue eyes and jet, Soft as when parting thy sympathy glowed! _March 3, 1867._ _COMMUNION HYMN_