CRUCE AND CORONA.
149
On barren ground uprising, stands a cross,By storm and tempest marred and light'ning's fire.Its surface only bears defacing marks;For strong beneath a firm unyielding rockIt stands, defying all the storms of time.And round and o'er its rough marred surface twineFrail vines, with lovely blossoms, buds, and leaves,And here and there, by some rough wind unclasped,Hang tendrils drooping. Buds that once were fairBend dark and blighted. Green stems here and there,Dissevered from their blossoms, lonely hang.And o'er this cross, all gold and silver tinged,Are clouds of wondrous glory. Angel handsReach softly from them, twining round this crossImmortal wreaths of ever-blooming flow'rs,That those whose saddened eyes beheld with griefThe blighting of the buds of hope, the fallUntimely of joy's blossoms bright and fair,May lift above their tearful eyes and seeThe angel-given flowers, and weep no more.
But, oh! more happy still, above the cross,And in the clouds' clear glory softly veiled,A crown, whereon, in lines of wondrous light,By angel's fingers traced, these words, "In Heav'n."
