Earth, oh, earth! bowed down by sorrow,
Cheer thee, for there comes a morrow;
Night and clouds, and gloom dispersing,
And thyself, O earth, immersing
In a flood of light undying;
When the curse upon thee lying,
With its thousand woes attending.
Death, and pain, and bosoms rending,
Partings that the heart-strings sever,
Will be banished and forever,—
Earth, oh, earth! renewed in glory,
Love and joy make up the story;
Oh, be thou my home!
Earth, although thou seem’st forsaken,
Yet a note of praise awaken;
For the angels, lowly bending
Round the throne of light unending,
Gaze upon thee, sad and groaning,
Listen to thy bitter moaning;
Thou hast scenes to them amazing,
While on Calvary’s mountain gazing;
And they smile on every nation
Purchased with so great salvation,—
Earth, oh, earth! renewed in glory,
Angels shall rehearse thy story;
Oh, be thou my home!
Earth, the morn will soon break o’er
thee,
And thy Saviour will restore thee;
Far more bright and far more blooming,
And more glorious robes assuming
Than when first, o’er Eden ringing,
Angel-voices were heard singing;
For thy King himself descending,
Heaven and earth together blending,
With his saints a countless number,
Those who live and those who slumber,
Over thee will reign victorious,—
Earth, oh, earth, thus bright and glorious,
Be thou then my home!
“WE SORROW NOT AS OTHERS WITHOUT HOPE.”
While looking over an old manuscript, written by one
who is long since passed from time into eternity,
I met with the following lines: “It is
six years to-day since my Elsa died, and five months
since my Amanda left me forever. They sleep in
the grave, and there they will remain through endless
years.” He then went on, in strains mournful
and tender, and with all a father’s sorrow deplored
his loss. I could not wonder that he wept the
tears of anguish and despair if, as he said, they
are to remain in the dark tomb through endless years.
The glorious Resurrection morning was unknown to him.
He saw only the tomb, and considered not that there
is One who holds the keys of the grave, and who will
soon burst the icy bars of death and bring forth the
righteous to immortality. Truly that morning has
charms for the Christian. God grant that if I
am called to slumber for a while I may “have
part in the first resurrection.”—June
22, 1852.
Oh, fly away to the better land,
Thou bird of the snowy wing!
Oh, fly away to the blood-washed band,
And hear the songs they sing!
But bear a message from us, O dove,
To that bright and happy throng;
For we have friends whom we dearly love,
Who swell the Conqueror’s song.
Oh tell them our hearts are sad and lone,
Our homes not bright as of yore;
For we miss the soft, the soothing tone
Of the friends we loved before.
