Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, O fools-said I-thus to prefer dark night To live in grots and caves, and hate the day The way, which from this dead and dark abode A way where you might tread the sun, and be But as I did their madness so discuss, One whispered thus, "This ring the Bride-groom did for none provide, But for His Bride." Henry Vaughan [1622-1695] THE WHITE ISLAND In this world, the Isle of Dreams, But when once from hence we fly, Uniting: In that whiter island, where There no monstrous fancies shall Out of Hell an horror call, To create (or cause at all) THIS world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, There's nothing true but Heaven! And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even; And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom Poor wanderers of a stormy day, And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troubled way,— Thomas Moore [1779-1852] THE LAND O' THE LEAL I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. 'There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cauld nor care, John, 'The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, The joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, To the land o' the leal. O, dry your glistening e'e, John! To the land o' the leal. O, haud ye leal and true, John! To the land o' the leal. Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John, This warld's cares are vain, John, We'll meet, and we'll be fain, In the land o' the leal. Does not the vision say, Where souls angelic soar, Let this vain world no more That heaven I love so well Rest is found there. Carolina Nairne (1766-1845] AT HOME IN HEAVEN PART I "FOR EVER with the Lord!" Amen! so let it be! Life from the dead is in that word, 'Tis immortality. Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent My Father's house on high, Ah! then my spirit faints To reach the land I love, The bright inheritance of saints, Yet clouds will intervene, And all my prospect flies; Like Noah's dove, I flit between Rough seas and stormy skies. |