Papers from Overlook-House

Are silenced in thy cross-wrung groan,
Buried beneath thy tomb's vast stone,
Which angels' hands alone can move.
Earth has this pure work for their love.

Oh let thy glory shine on me,
Armed in thy purest panoply.
My shield, the Lamb, the cross it bears,
Let me not weep its stain with tears!
The gathering waters fill each cloud;
The mountain's burnished tops they shroud.
They spread o'er valley, over plain,
Rich with God's blessings in the rain;
On good and evil both they fall,
In the vast care of God for all.

So Lord, thy servant thus prepare,
To bear thy mercies everywhere.
When in the grave mine ashes sleep,
When o'er it, sad a friend may weep,

Thou wilt not suffer it be said, —
His life was scarce accredited
By Him who sits upon the throne, —
By Him who bore our sins alone,
Who wills our holy walk on earth,
As sons of God, of heavenly birth,
Who will have none disciples here
Unless their cross with zeal they bear.

Life without Christ! That is but death.
Prayer without Christ! – but idle breath:
And love for man, but vanity
Save at the cross 'tis learnt by me.
Oh help thy branch, thou heavenly Vine.
Union with thee is life divine,
And clustered fruits are ever mine,

If from beneath alone we gaze,
Thy providence a darkened maze.
Rise on wings of faith and prayer,
And then what love and wisdom there!
So brightness of unbroken day
Upon those clouds doth heavenward lay
Though we can trace no single ray,
Who look from earth. Yet angels see
The glory as a silver sea.

VII.

THE PROTECTOR DYING

Dread hour! nearing, nearing fast.
Yet I cannot wish thee past.
Death! Oh! but a dream till nigh,
With night cold from eternity.

That cold night doth around me creep
In which immortals never sleep.

The cloud its mighty shade doth fling,
Like a mantle for a king,
On the mountain's awful form,
Scarred through battles with the storm.

So thy darkness falls on me,
Darkness, such as cannot be,
But to those whose soul is life,
To a nation in its strife,
That its wrongs for ever crushed,
The cries of slaves forever hushed,
And every chain forever gone,
Man tremble before God alone;
That man's true right, so long betrayed,
On truth and justice shall be laid;
That Freedom's martyr's work begun
In blood, and fire, and hidden sun,
Shall culminate in triumphs won;
And the world's changing channels trace
A course of hope for all our race.

Oh! how they as the humblest die,
Who part from kingly majesty
To stand before Him! – nothing there
But as His image we may bear;
The image by the humblest borne;
The kings of the eternal morn.

The lowliest man, most void of power,
To stand the trial of that hour!
To come from life in quiet shade,
From humble duties well obeyed.

Ah! if this be a solemn thing,
What then for one in might a king!
To meet the trial of that day
From gorgeous wrongs in false array,
Where false praise gilds the every deed,
Where few warn one that will not heed;
The man whom Weird-like hands have shown