The great transition who can tell!
When from the ear its seal shall part,
Where countless lyres seraphic swell,
And holy transport thrills the heart:
Whin the chain'd tongue, forbid to pour
The broken melodies of time,
Shall to the highest numbers soar
Of everlasting praise sublime:
When those veil'd orbs, which ne'er might trace
The features of their kindred clay,
Shall scan of Deity, the face,
And glow with rapture's deathless ray.
THE COMMUNION.
"Master! it is good to be here."—Mark ix. 5.
They knelt them side by side; the hoary man
Whose memory was an age, and she whose cheek
Gleam'd like that velvet, which the young moss-rose
Puts blushing forth, from its scarce sever'd sheath.
There was the sage,—whose eye of science spans
The comet in his path of fire,—and she
Whose household duty was her sole delight,
And highest study. On the chancel clasp'd,
In meek devotion, were those bounteous hands
That scatter thousands at the call of Christ,
And his, whose labor wins the scanty bread
For his young children. There the man of might
