EUTHANASIA.
241
The road may be rough, but 'tis quickly passed o'er;
The billows may rage, but they waft to the shore;
And once safely moored, storms will vex us no more.
The billows may rage, but they waft to the shore;
And once safely moored, storms will vex us no more.
So we pass on unfearing, for eye hath not seen
The place that's prepared, and long waiting hath been,
With azure sky, cloudless and nightless, serene.
The place that's prepared, and long waiting hath been,
With azure sky, cloudless and nightless, serene.
To picture the dwellers there, pen may not dare,
'Tis enough that no sin ever sheds its blight where
All pure are, and holy, and happy, and fair.
'Tis enough that no sin ever sheds its blight where
All pure are, and holy, and happy, and fair.
The way would be lonely, sad, desolate, drear,
Were it not through the darkness our Guide's voice we hear—
Though soft be His whisper, it calms every fear
Were it not through the darkness our Guide's voice we hear—
Though soft be His whisper, it calms every fear
My rebel thought, question not Heaven's decree,
It worse were than useless to murmur or flee,
For wisdom, not chance, rules the soul's destiny
It worse were than useless to murmur or flee,
For wisdom, not chance, rules the soul's destiny
