University of Virginia Library

Death! thou dark and dismal portal
To the joys of life immortal!
Let thy leaves, unfolding now,
One bright glimpse to faith allow,
Of that happy land afar,
Where redeemed spirits are:
That, as now the heavenly light
Parts the' ascending saint from sight,
Tears of joy alone be shed,—
Joy that blessed are the dead.

Where is Heaven? Oh, whither go
Those who leave their dust below?
Mortal man must die to know.
Fancy cannot climb so high:
Yet, to Stephen seemed it nigh.
One brief hour shall well suffice
For the flight to Paradise.
That dark day was well-nigh spent:
Ere it closed, the Penitent
Thither with his Saviour went.
No dark realm of shadowy space
Forms the spirit's resting place,
Which He promised to prepare:
Many are the mansions there;—
Ever filling as the skies
Open for new colonies:
Still enriching with the worth
Drawn from this impoverished earth.

Oh, the glorious multitude
That bright Hades must include!
All the old heroic dead,
Gathered round their glorious Head:
Saints of every age and clime,
From the infancy of time;
Seers, apostles, martyrs, sages,
Those who, through the mist of ages,
Shine with undiminished fame,
Lamps of wisdom, souls of flame;
And the meek, obscure, and lowly,
Whom the world despised as holy,
Through the Saviour's grace and might,
Victors, walk with him in white.
There, in Heaven's most wide embrace,
Myriads, too, of infant race,
Rudely snatched from earth that seemed,
Swell the hosts of the redeemed.
Though the sword that harvest reap,
Childless mother! cease to weep:
Weep not for thy sinless dead;
Rachel! be thou comforted.
Parents, friends, have joined the throng;
Nor shall we be parted long.
Some with us are tarrying here,
For whom, with whom, life is dear.
But the last will soon have fled,
And our home is with the dead.
Life is here in wandering spent;
Earth our place of banishment;
Virtue is but mortal strife;
'Tis at death we come to life,—
Lay the shield and helmet down
For the palm, the wreathed crown;
Death, the Christian's great reward!
Death, the presence of the Lord!

Lo! again our eyes behold
Those mysterious gates unfold,
And, dear Child! the new-made tomb
Opens for thy youthful bloom.
Oh! to track the spirit's flight!
Yes, though hid from grosser sight,
Faith can scale thy path of light,
Up the' aërial stair that beamed
On the Patriarch as he dreamed,
Still by angel footsteps trod,
To the sapphire throne of God.
—With what strange, unearthly dread,
Though by angel convoys led,
Upward must the spirit press,
Disembodied consciousness!
With what transport, awful, new,
Hasten towards that interview!
Who of Adam's sinful race
May endure his God to face?
Though redeemed and sanctified,
Who that Living Light abide,
Which no mortal could sustain,
For which Moses asked in vain?
How shall even immortal eye
Bear the' unclouded majesty?

Lo! the opening heavens disclose
One the raptured spirit knows,
Though unlike the form He wore,
When his people's sins He bore,
Yet by love's strong instinct known,
'Mid the glories of the Throne.
And those angel-pinions fleet
Lay their burden at His feet.
Raised by His redeeming hand,
Now that sainted one can stand,
Happy 'mid that happy band;—
Led by Him, to God draw near,
Perfect love expelling fear.
Shame nor dread shall then alloy
That intense, exceeding joy.
Yes, that hour will heaven impart,
Lord! to see Thee as Thou art;
Changed by that transforming sight,
Kindling into love and light.

But what heavenly form shall dress
Then the' all-happy consciousness?
Or in what bright vehicle
Shall the sainted spirit dwell,
Till the Grave, its mortal coil,
Mingling with the faithful soil,
Chemist exquisite, prepare
For heaven's everlasting wear?
From the dust so springs the flower,
Sown in weakness, raised in power.
How the spirit shall be clad,
Whether in the shape she had,
Imaged in material lent
By some purer element;—
By what fine, instinctive ken,
Spirit shall know spirit then,
Holding, in mysterious union,
Sweet, ineffable communion;—
Matters not: enough is shown.
We shall know: we shall be known.

Not unsocial their employ,
Or the worship, or the joy,
Of the new-arrived in regions
Populous with blessed legions.
Soon the spirit feels her ties:
Tender thoughts to memory rise,
Unextinguished sympathies.
Happy in angelic care,
She has nearer kindred there,
And through every golden street,
Burns some dearer form to meet.
Is there one to whom on earth
Most she owed her second birth,—
One whose counsel, watching, prayers,
Sowed the seed which glory bears;—
Friend still closer than a brother,—
Mother who was more than mother;—
Surely to that mansion bright
Love will first direct her flight.
Oh the transports of that meeting,
Glad surprise, and rapturous greeting!
Those who last in sorrow parted;
Some whom death found broken-hearted;
Many a long-lost, rebel child,
Since brought home and reconciled;
Friends of youth, too early lost;
Some whose love the world had crossed;
There they meet, no more to sever;
Meet in bliss, and meet for ever!
Some remain as yet below,
Struggling in a world of woe;
But their names are there enrolled
As belonging to the Fold:
Sweet the thought!—their places wait:
They will not arrive too late.

Here had paused the venturous strain,
When those portals once again
Sudden turned with gentlest sound.
—Easy exit hast thou found,
Dearest Father! such thy prayer;
And what joyful entrance there!
Like a sheaf of ripened grain,
In the garner Thou art lain;
Full of years, thy locks of grey
Laurels of a well-spent day.
Grave! this venerable dust
Take into thy faithful trust.
Tears of joy alone be shed;
Blessed are the pious dead.
Thanks and praise to Thee we give,
Lord, to whom, with whom, they live!
Thanks for all thy servants dear
Who have, in thy faith and fear,
Hence departed! So may we,
Following those who followed Thee,
Join that holy company!
Onward, upward, let us press,
Tending to that blessedness;
Gathering round us, in our course,
By example's hallowed force,
All whom we can snatch, or win,
From the downward paths of sin:
Losing nothing, but to find,
When we leave this world behind,
More than earth at best could shew,
All we lost or loved below:—
Still, amid the race, the strife
Of this agonistic life,
Witnessed by the circle bright
Who have won their course to light,
Ever on the goal intent;
Still on heaven our purpose bent,
Where our Leader, Saviour, Lord,
Holds the infinite reward.

Then, the course, the fight, achieved,
Oh, what joy, to be received,
Through that mercy we believed;
And, death's gloomy portal past,—
(That grim foe shall be the last,—)
'Mid our glorious friends above,
Be all joy and praise and love.