Then the Stream shook hands with the kingly main,
And, glancing back to her source again,
Beheld each place where her steps had been
Glowing in tenderest, loveliest green,--
Saw beauty and fruitfulness fresh and fair
Wherever her gladdening footsteps were,
And caught from the green hills far away
The echo of many a woodland lay,
And the perfume of many a wild flower borne
On the scented wings of the dewy morn.
And then the rivulet understood
That all along she'd been doing good;--
That a rich green belt on Earth's sunny breast
Was left to tell of her mission blest;--
That Earth with lovelier flowers was rife
For her calm footsteps and patient life;--
That giving much, she had gathered more,
Winning an ever-increasing store;--
And, at length, unfettered, and strong, and free,
A home she had found with the glorious Sea!
HAIL, RISEN LORD!
Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
And Death--the last undone!
Hail, risen Lord,--the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save,--
Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
In uncreated light!
Hail, risen Lord,--we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
And yield thee worship meet!--
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
We breathe them at thy feet
For here, 'mid darkness, sin, and death,
Our loudest praise is but a breath,--
An infant's feeble sigh!
Yet, haply, to thy gracious ear
Our weak hosannas are as dear,
As those that swell on high!
Hail, risen Lord,--exalted King,
Well may the highest heavens ring
With rapture's sweetest lays!
Be ours to add our feeble sigh
To the full chorus of the sky,
In reverential praise!
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MOTHER
A voice missed by the dear home-hearth--
A voice of music and gentle mirth--
A voice whose lingering sweetness long
Will float through many a Sabbath song,
And many a hallowed, evening hymn,
Tenderly breathed in the twilight dim!
--But that missing voice, with a richer tone,
Is heard in the anthems before the throne;
And another voice and another lyre,
Are added now to the angel-choir!
There's a missing face when the board is spread--
There's a vacant seat at the table's head,--
A watchful eye and a helpful hand
That will come no more to that broken band.
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