What cloudless scenes of wonder and delight Come to us in the silent realms of night; Loved ones we meet, that long have been at rest, We grasp their hands and clasp them to our breast, Talk with them of the happy days gone by, With not a pang of sorrow nor a sigh: And everything around looks wondrous fair, Sweet flowers of richest hue bloom here and there; On either hand we see unnumbered throngs Of white-robed angels, wafting joyful songs: And seeing thus, continued glories rise.-- Our souls are ’rapt in endless Paradise. But mingled voices touch the sleeper’s ear. And lo! how swift the bright scenes disappear! The morning light beams through the window pane-- The dream has fled and day returned again. _LINES ON LIFE._ With all the cares and toils that here abound, And e’en deep seas of grief which men must ford-- To him whose guardian is th’ Omnipotent, Life is a source of everlasting joy! This world at most is but an anteroom, Where souls prepare to take their joyous flight To Heaven’s eternal mansions. Thus the while We here remain, is it not meet that we Should wear the garb of truth and righteousness? _WHERE ARE THE HEARTS WE CHERISHED SO?_ Where are the hearts we cherished so, Who’ve left this earthly main, And gone from kindred circles dear, Ne’er to return again? Where gone those aged silvery locks? That sturdy youthful brow? Alas! no sound comes from the grave, Where they’re reposing now! When troubles here our paths beset. When cares and woes assail, We often think of those at rest Within that happy Vale; And tho’ we cannot wish them back In this sad world of pain-- O! how we long to catch a glimpse Of their dear forms again! But just beyond the stream which glides Between that Land and ours-- Where fairer fields are all adorned With never-fading flow’rs, And brighter suns forever shine Throughout the golden spheres, We’ll dwell with those who’ve left us here, Through never-ending years. [Illustration] _CONTENTMENT._ The isle of contentment we view from afar, And it dazzles our eyes like a beautiful star; A region which thousands gaze wistfully at, And would dwell there, if ’twasn’t for this or for that. The lord in his palace, the cotter obscure, The high and the lowly, the rich and the poor, Are all discontented whate’er be the case, Because they are not in some other man’s place. In youth, how we long for mature years of men; In age, how we sigh for our childhood again; Wherever our station, whate’er be our lot, We miss countless blessings for joys we have not. Thus, ever thro’ life, from our earliest prime, We look and we long for some happier clime, Until the bright portals of Paradise ope, And we soar away home on the pinions of hope. _THE TELULAH SPRING._