“Return to the world, dear child, return; No longer _receive_, but _give_! From a humble Brier this lesson learn: Thou hast power in _thyself_ to live. JUBILATE. Sung at the celebration of the 20th anniversary of Modern Spiritualism, March 31, 1868. THE world hath felt a quickening breath From Heaven’s eternal shore, And souls triumphant over Death Return to earth once more. For _this_ we hold our jubilee, For this with joy we sing-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?” Our cypress wreaths are laid aside For amaranthine flowers, For Death’s cold wave does not divide The souls we love from ours. From pain, and death, and sorrow free, They join with us to sing-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?” Immortal eyes look from above Upon our joys to-night, And souls immortal in their love In our glad songs unite. Across the waveless crystal sea The notes triumphant ring-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?” “Sweet spirits, welcome yet again!” With loving hearts we cry; And, “Peace on earth, good will to men,” The angel hosts reply. From doubt and fear, through truth made free, With faith triumphant sing-- “O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?” THE DIVINE IDEA. WHEN the morning came with her eyes of flame, And looked on the youthful earth; When man, at the call of the Lord of All, Rose up in his glorious birth; When the stars rang out, with a tuneful shout To the mountains and the sea, And the world’s great heart, with a quickened start, Beat time to their melody;-- Ere the dawning light in the heavens grew bright, Ere the march of the hours began, God planted the seed of a mighty need, In the innermost soul of man. ’Twas the yearning wild that a little child For the fostering parent feels-- A holy thought with his life inwrought, Which his simplest act reveals. The lion proud, like a servant, bowed At the might of his sovereign will; But to man alone was the sense made known Of a power that was higher still. Yet vague and dim was that thought to him; His simple and child-like mind Could not gaze aright on that matchless light, So boundless and unconfined. Gross by birth from his mother Earth, He needed some outward sign; So the artisan planned, with a cunning hand, A _form_ of the Great Divine. And Baal, and Allah, and Juggernaut, And Brahma, and Zeus, and Pan, Show how deeply wrought was that one great thought, In the worshiping soul of man.