Who, who would live alway? away from his God,
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,
Where the rivers of pleasure flow o’er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;
Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,
Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet,
While the songs of salvation exultingly roll
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.

That heavenly music! what is it I hear? 
The notes of the harpers ring sweet in mine ear! 
And see, soft unfolding those portals of gold,
The King all arrayed in his beauty behold! 
Oh give me, oh give me, the wings of a dove,
To adore him—­be near him—­enwrapt with his love;
I but wait for the summons, I list for the word—­
Alleluia—­Amen—­evermore with the Lord!

WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MUeHLENBERG.

FAREWELL.

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
  Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life,—­
  It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

LOVE AND DEATH.

Alas! that men must see
    Love, before Death! 
Else they content might be
    With their short breath;
Aye, glad, when the pale sun
Showed restless day was done,
And endless Rest begun.

Glad, when with strong, cool hand
    Death clasped their own,
And with a strange command
    Hushed every moan;
Glad to have finished pain,
And labor wrought in vain,
Blurred by Sin’s deepening stain.

But Love’s insistent voice
    Bids self to flee—­
“Live that I may rejoice,
    Live on, for me!”
So, for Love’s cruel mind,
Men fear this Rest to find,
Nor know great Death is kind!

MARGARETTA WADE DELAND.

TO DEATH.

Methinks it were no pain to die
On such an eve, when such a sky
    O’er-canopies the west;
To gaze my fill on yon calm deep,
And, like an infant, fall asleep
    On Earth, my mother’s breast.

There’s peace and welcome in yon sea
Of endless blue tranquillity: 
    These clouds are living things;
I trace their veins of liquid gold,
I see them solemnly unfold
    Their soft and fleecy wings.

These be the angels that convey
Us weary children of a day—­
    Life’s tedious nothing o’er—­
Where neither passions come, nor woes,
To vex the genius of repose
    On Death’s majestic shore.

No darkness there divides the sway
With startling dawn and dazzling day;
    But gloriously serene
Are the interminable plains: 
One fixed, eternal sunset reigns
    O’er the wide silent scene.

I cannot doff all human fear;
I know thy greeting is severe
    To this poor shell of clay: 
Yet come, O Death! thy freezing kiss
Emancipates! thy rest is bliss! 
    I would I were away!