One, where no lingering ill can harm,
One, where no stroke of fate can sever,
Where nought but holiness doth charm,
And all that charms shall live forever.
"TO DIE IS GAIN."
Say'st thou, 'tis gain to die? And may I ask
How thou hast weigh'd, and by what process brought
The Apostle's answer to thy sum of life?
Where are thy balances, and whose firm hand
Did poise therein thy talents and their use
To show such blest result? Time's capital
Needs well be husbanded, to leave the amount
Of gain behind, when at a moment's call
The spirit fleets, and the dissolving flesh
Yields to the earth-worm's fang.
Say, hath thy lip
Too often satiate, loath'd the mingled cup
So madly fill'd at Pleasure's turbid stream?
Or hath thine ear, the promises of hope
Drank on in giddy sickness, till the touch
Of grave philosophy, their emptiness
Detected, and to their thin element
Of air, reduc'd? Or doth thy cheated heart
Sowing its warm affections on the wind
And reaping but the whirlwind, turn with scorn
From every harvest which these changeful skies
Can ripen or destroy? Then hast thou prov'd
