A voice speaks to my soul to-day And yet the vision in my heart, In a few hours more, Will fade into the silent past, ILLUSION. HERE the golden corn is bending, Where the chestnut woods are sending Leafy showers upon the grass, The blue river onward flowing The murmur of the flowers growing, I, from that rich plain was gazing Towards the snowy mountains high, Who their gleaming peaks were raising Up against the purple sky. And the glory of their shining, Set my weary spirit pining For a home so pure and bright! So I left the plain, and weary, Toiled through pathways long and dreary, Lo! the height that I had taken, Was a desolate, forsaken I am faint, my feet are bleeding, ૨ Lights are shining, bells are tolling, In the busy vale below; Near me night's black clouds are rolling, So I watch the river winding That my dream was false and vain! A VISION. LOOMY and black are the cypress trees, white, And the black clouds flit o'er the chill moonlight. Silent is all save the dropping rain, When slowly there cometh a mourning train; "Open, dark grave, and take her; Though we have loved her so, Yet we must now forsake her, Love will no more awake her: (Oh, bitter woe!) Open thine arms and take her To rest below! "Vain is our mournful weeping, Her gentle life is o'er; Only the worm is creeping Where she will soon be sleeping, For evermore Nor joy nor love is keeping For her in store!" Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, Slowly across the gleaming sky, A crowd of white angels are passing by. But hush! for the silent glory is stirred, "Open, O Heaven! we bear her, Still undefiled; And to thine arms we bear her, 66 Open, O Heaven! no morrow No pain, no tears, no sorrow, Sad life is past; Shielded and safe from sorrow, At home at last." |