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The Choir and The Oratory

or Praise and Prayer. By Josiah Conder

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I.

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.

234

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;

235

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,—

236

Lay the shield and helmet down
For the palm, the wreathed crown;
Death, the Christian's great reward!
Death, the presence of the Lord!