I HEAR thee speak of the better land,
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother, oh! where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?
Not there, not there, my child.
Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?
Not there, not there, my child.
Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand,
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
Not there, not there, my child.
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there,
Time doth not breathe on its faultless bloom,
For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child.
THERE IS A FRIEND WHICH STICKETH
THOUGH Sunless, moonless, starless seem
Each sufferer's lonely state,
There is a light, whose cheering beam
Its gloom can dissipate :
It comes with healing on its wings,
And heavenly radiance round it flings!
It rises on the darken'd mind
With lustre brighter far
Than that to outward orb assign'd,
Of sun, or moon, or star;
And matchless in its mild control
Over the desolate in soul.
There is a Friend more tender, true,
Than brother e'er can be ;
Who, when all others bid adieu,
Remains the last to flee ;
Who, be their pathway bright or dim,
Deserts not those who turn to Him.
The heart by Him sustain'd, though deep
Its anguish, still can bear;
The soul he condescends to keep,
Shall never know despair;
In nature's weakness, sorrow's night,
God is its strength, its joy, its light.
He is the Friend who changeth not,
In sickness or in health;
Whether on earth our transient lot
Be poverty or wealth;
In joy or grief, contempt or fame,
To all who seek Him, still the same!
Of human hearts he holds the key;
Is friendship meet for ours?
Oh! be assured that none but he
Unlocks its purest powers;
He can recall the lost, the dead,
Or give us dearer in their stead.
Of earthly friends, who finds them true,
May boast a happy lot;
But happier still, life's journey through,
Is he who needs them not:
A heavenly Friend-to know we need,
To feel we have-is bliss indeed.
ADAM'S MORNING ADORATION.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
Almighty thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable; who sit'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne, rejoicing; ye in heaven:
On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars! last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet : praise him in the sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou, Sun! of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon has gain'd, and when thou
fall'st:
Moon! that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st;
And five other wandering Fires! that move
In mystic dance, nor without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air! and ye Elements ! the eldest birth
Of nature-oh, let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye Mists and Exhalations! that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold,
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