Lazarus is at the gate, thou know'st it not,
Or ah, too well I know thy heart would bleed,
Howbeit used on gentle thoughts to feed ;
But wall'd about with blessings is thy lot,
While dark winds prowl without, and are forgot;
Nor ever dost thou see, nor hear, nor heed
Penury's stern family, from clouds of need
Cowering and huddling 'neath the wintry cot.
Thou know'st it not, thy Saviour is on earth!
And thou may'st find Him in affliction's smile
By the lorn widow's side, and the cold hearth
Of earth-bow'd Eld, and clothe him in His poor.
Oh, haste, for time is on the wing, and while
Thou know'st it not, thy Judge is at the door!
Her ways were ways of innocence and glee,
But pain is all her dower and stern disease,
While darkness shrouds the shore where sorrows
At Death's dim portal, wed with agony,
She sits, 'mid sights of fever'd phantasy;
While ever and anon Ocean's wild roar,
And that dark shadowy boat, is at the door;
And earth-born vapours veil that star on high
That lights eternity: but yet to Heav'n,
At each calm interval to anguish giv'n,
She lifted her full eye, and thankful smile:
Meek soul, to sorrow reconcil'd, awhile,
And each dark hour, with thorns of sorrow strewn,
Shall add a gem to thine eternal crown.
It was a bud upon a cottage door
"That hung its head in dying languishment"
Pensively drooping, nor in glass-roof'd store
E'er blossom'd ought more fair. A blast was sent
From out the House of Pain, that built its tent
And made its lodging in her bosom's core.
To suffer is our dowry, but the more
Touch not the pining chord of discontent
In the great anthem, till the mighty scroll
Of mystery all the vision doth unroll.
And what tho' dark the gate, and gloomy be
The vestibule of immortality?
Pass on-e'en now shall burst upon thy soul
The temple of Eternal Deity!
Oh, talk not of her eye's ethereal blue,
Instinct with soul and the heart's eloquence,
The spirit's music thro' the veil of sense,
So languishingly fair! ah, it is true
There was a nameless sweetness 'neath that hue
Where on her cheek the rose so smilingly
O'er the envious lily sat in mastery;
And that strange worldly gentleness that threw
A spell around her: such are hues of gold
That paint the unsightly cloud, for what are these,
If wed with unbaptized vanities,
To those meek ornaments that grow not old,
Which are to God and His good angels dear,
And might win them on thee to minister?
peace be o'er you, and that Dove That dips her wing in the ambrosial well Which heals life's sorrows, ever a sweet spell Haunting your silent path-way, tranquil love; Such as may spring on earth and bloom above! Spirits affectionate, safe may ye dwell In Hope and Faith's heav'n-climbing citadel. There are sustaining and sustain'd will prove A crown of beauty, tho' they droop alone. Sweet honey-suckle, she in some airy bower With clustering tubes of sweetness, and meek crown Steals up unseen, then from her leafy tower Looks forth, and smiles; the elm'neath many a flower, Is wondering at a sweetness not his own.
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