O fair, false city, thou gay and gilded harlot, Woe for thy wanton heart, woe for thy wicked hardness: Woe unto thee, that the lightsomeness of Life, beneath Italian suns, Should meet the solemnity of Death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful. FOR that, even to the best, the wise, and pure, and pious, Yea, and even at the best, in company of buried kindred, With hallowing rites, and friendly tears, and the dear old country church, Death, cold and lonely, thy frigid face is hateful; The bravest look on thee with dread, the humblest curse thy coming. Still, ye unwise among mankind, your foolishness hath added fears; The crowded cemetery, the catacomb of bones, the pestilential vault, With fancy's gliding ghost at eve, her moans and flaky footfalls, The grave, that wage of guilt, that due return to dust, The grave, that goal of earth, and starting-post for heaven. PLANT it with laurels, sprinkle it with lilies, set it upon yonder dewy hill, 'Midst holy prayers, and generous grief, and consecrating blessings: But heap not coffins and corruption to infect the mass of living, But to plunge in gloom the parting soul, that hath loved its clay tenement so long, This were vanity and folly, the counsel of moroseness and despair. Not thus the dying poet asketh a cheerful grave, Lay him in the sunshine, friends, nor sorrow that a Christian hath departed! YEA, it is the poetry of Death, an Orpheus gladdening Hades, To care with mindful love for all so dear- and dead; To think of them in hope, to look for them in joy, and—but for its simple vanity To pray with all the earnestness of nature for souls who cannot change. For the tree is felled, and boughed, and bare, and the Measurer standeth with his line; The chance is gone forever, and is past the reach of prayer; For men and angels, good and ill, have rendered all their witness; Racked with a fearful looking forward, or blissfully feeding on the foretaste, Waiting souls in eager expectation pass the solemn interval: the judgment; They lie not insensate among darkness, but exult, looking to the light. Idiotcy, brightening on the instant, when that veil is torn, Is grateful that his torpor here hath left him as an innocent; The young child, stricken as he played, and guileless babes unborn, Freed from fetters of the flesh, burst into mind immediate; Madness judgeth wisely, and the visions of the lunatic are gone, And each hasteneth to praise the mercy that made him irresponsible. For soul is one, though manifold in act, working the machinery of brain; Reason, fancy, conscience, passion, are but varying phases; If, in God's wise purpose, the machine were shattered or confused, Behold, the maniacs and embryos stand in their place intelligent. O DEATH, what art thou? a lawgiver that never altereth, Fixing the consummating seal, whereby the deeds of life become established: O Death, what art thou? a stern and silent usher, Leading to the judgment for Eternity, after the trial scene of Time: O Death, what art thou? the shadow unto every substance, The terrors are but shadows now that haunt the vale of Death. OF IMMORTALITY. GIRD up thy mind to contemplation, trembling inhabitant of earth; Tenant of a hovel for a day, thou art heir of the universe forever! For, neither congealing of the grave, nor gulfing waters of the fir mament, Nor expansive airs of heaven, nor dissipative fires of Gehenna, change, Shall avail to quench or overwhelm the spark of soul within thee! THOU art an imperishable leaf on the evergreen bay-tree of Exist ence; A word from Wisdom's mouth, that cannot be unspoken; A ray of Love's own light; a drop in Mercy's sea; A creature, marvellous and fearful, begotten by the fiat of Omnipo tence. I, that speak in weakness, and ye, that hear in charity, Shall not cease to live and feel, though flesh must see corruption; For the prison-gates of matter shall be broken, and the shackled soul go free, Free, for good or ill, to satisfy its appetence forever; Forever, dreadful doom, to be hurried on eternally to evil, - forever! AND is there a thought within thy heart, O slave of sin and fear, That primal disobedience hath insured the death of soul, Heed thou this; there is a Sacrifice; the Maker is Redeemer of his creature; Freely unto each, universally to all, is restored the privilege of es sence: Whether unto grace or guilt, all must live through Him, Live in vital joy, or live in dying woe; Death in Adam, life in Christ; the curse hung upon the cross: Who art thou that heedest of redemption, as narrower than the fall? All were dead,— He died for all; that living, they might love; Knowledge and life are the perquisities of soul, the privilege of man: Mercy stepped between, and stayed the double theft; God gave; and giving, bought; and buying, asketh love; And in such asking rendereth bliss, to all that hear and answer, For love with life is heaven; and life unloving, hell. CREATURE of God, his will is for thy weal, eternally progressing; Fear not to trust a Maker's love, nor a Savior's ransom; He drank for all-for thee, and me the poison of our deeds: We shall not die, but live, — and, of his grace, we love! For, in the mysteries of Mercy, the One foreknowing Spirit Outstrippeth reason's halting choice, and winneth men to Him: Who shall sound the depths? who shall reach the heights? Freedom, in the gyves of fate; and sovereignty, reconciled with justice. IF then, as annihilate by sin, the soul was ever forfeit, To take from Heaven the grace of love, as the gift of life: But, behold, His reasonable children, standing in just probation, |