Hope Beyond The Grave
This night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you,
For morn is approaching your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew,
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
Oh! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
"Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind,
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
"Oh, pity, great Father of Light!" then I cried,
"Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee!
Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free."
And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love and Mercy, in triumph descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
by James Beattie, LL. D.
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