Expectant angels cry, "O come!" And saints prepare their gladdest song, Those wandering feet to welcome home, Come, then, and all shall triumph o'er ON DREAMING OF MY MOTHER. STAY, gentle shadow of my mother, stay: And leave my wistful eyes to wake and weep. Oh! I was dreaming of those golden days When, will my guide, and pleasure all my aim, I rambled wild through childhood's flowery maze, And knew of sorrow scarcely by her name. Those scenes are fled! and thou, alas, art fled, Light of my heart, and guardian of my youth! Then come no more to slumbering fancy's bed, To aggravate the pangs of waking truth : Or, if kind sleep these visions will restore, Oh, let me sleep again, and never waken more! "IT DOTH NOT YET APPEAR WHAT WE SHALL BE.” YE lingering hours, wheel swift away, And usher in the joyful day, When, rising from a world like this, My soul shall dwell where Jesus is! Too long I've waited here below, How favoured they, who once on earth How blest, to look up in Thy face, And there Thy Father's image trace! A lot like this is not for me, On earth to thus converse with Thee; Yet do I hope at last to rise, And join my Lord above the skies ; To view Him 'mid His flock, and share With them the mighty Shepherd's care; To hear His saints their tributes pay, And be myself as loud as they. M Till time shall bring this glad event, I linger here in banishment; And but for what I taste of Him, But through the gloom at times He looks, Of all I seek with Him above. Then haste, ye lingering hours, away, And lands me safe where Jesus is! |