SPIRIT answers: O bright! O best abode ! Expected long, Much sought in prayer, in song, Days, nights, and years, how long! Exceeding expectation! far above Where fancy in her highest flight could rove! Well worth the toil! God's gift of love! ANGEL: It is as thou hast said, All thou did'st dare Bravely to do and bear; Answered in full thy prayer: But not one millionth part dost thou yet know Of what Almighty goodness will bestow On thee--on all who loved below. SPIRIT: Great love! transcending thought! With Jesus' blood, Then made us like to God, Now gives us this abode, Where, were we endless ages to remain Just as we are, what lack? who could complain, Seeing with God, as kings, we reign? ANGEL: 'Tis so supremely blest Whose lot is here to rest; And now farewell: What God shall will, is well; It is not mine to tell The countless worlds, where countless myriads raise To the great Father everlasting praise For all his great and wondrous ways. THE SPIRITS IN PRISON. "He went and preached unto the spirits in prison, which sometime were disobedient, when once the long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah." Alas the lost-the dear, They lived, they died, in sin; For them a dreadful doom— Their bodies in the silent tomb Crumbled to dust; And in a place below The avenging angels did their souls bestow : Their doom was just. Alas! we mourned them sore, While lasted yet their life's brief hour; They would not hear: Have we no tears to shed, Now they are suffering in that prison dread? They still are dear. What! may we sympathize With those who dying closed their eyes Foes of God's power? Is it not now too late? Must we not own the justice of their fate, O God, tis hard to break, E'en when we do it for thy sake, With those we love : Such love for thee below We feeble creatures cannot fully show We may above What if we see again Those sinners dear without a stain Of sin and death! O God, thy mighty power After their prison-penance can restore How can we disbelieve How Jesus from the grave Then may not ours be glad, As, musing in their chambers sad, They think of One, Who went himself to Hell, And did of old the cheering tidings tell Of victory won? |