Nor sun nor moon to light it? Do they spread
The tokens of redeeming love to cheer
The heart that struggling with the wreathed bond
Of earth's most dear and sacred charities,
Doth find them rooted in its deepest core?
"The door is opened."
Enter in, thou blest
And holy soul. 'Twere sin to bind thee here.
The proudest flight of this clay-compassed thought,
Boasting itself all limitless, dares not
To follow thee, or shadow forth thy bliss.
Farewell! farewell! thou who did'st meekly draw
Thy purest treasures from the Book of God,
And wear them, as an amulet, to shield
Thy breast from stain? Still shall thy country grave
Thy name upon the Urim of her heart,
Till her exulting pulses cease to beat
O'er the true greatness of her gifted sons.
ON READING THE DESCRIPTION OF POMPEII, IN THE "REMAINS OF THE REV. E. D. GRIFFIN."
"In the garden of a villa was found the skeleton of a man, carrying keys in one hand and money and gold ornaments in the other. Before entering the gate of the city, you perceive the ruins of the guard-house, in which was found the skeleton of a soldier, with lance in hand."
Tour in Italy and Switzerland.
It was the evening of the day of God,
And silence reigned around. The waning lamp
Gleamed heavily, and gathering o'er my heart
There seemed a musing sadness.
