 | Dartmoor, and other poems |  |
Must each be launch'd ere long on death's cold stream,
Each pass away—like a forgotten dream!
Oh! higher thought and fearful, doth there wait
For all the sons of men, an endless state!
Is there an hour, momentous, drawing near,
When their last sentence all who live shall hear;
With joy unspeakable, or pangs untold,
Yield up their stewardship, and their Judge behold!
You have believed, and for the deluge wide,
Prepared your ark that safe the storm shall ride.
You know there is. While others till they die,
Deem all things serious but eternity;
You, better taught, a future empire raise,
And spend for God your few and fleeting days.
Each pass away—like a forgotten dream!
54
For all the sons of men, an endless state!
Is there an hour, momentous, drawing near,
When their last sentence all who live shall hear;
With joy unspeakable, or pangs untold,
Yield up their stewardship, and their Judge behold!
You have believed, and for the deluge wide,
Prepared your ark that safe the storm shall ride.
You know there is. While others till they die,
Deem all things serious but eternity;
You, better taught, a future empire raise,
And spend for God your few and fleeting days.
| Dartmoor, and other poems | |