Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/74
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56
The Body and the Soul.
What is the body?—fragile, frail
As vegetation's tenderest leaf;
Transient as April's fitful gale,
And as the flashing meteor brief.
As vegetation's tenderest leaf;
Transient as April's fitful gale,
And as the flashing meteor brief.
What is this soul? eternal mind,
Unlimited as thought's vast range,
By grovelling matter unconfined—
The same, while states and empires change.
Unlimited as thought's vast range,
By grovelling matter unconfined—
The same, while states and empires change.
When long this miserable frame
Has vanished from life's busy scene,
This earth shall roll, that sun shall flame,
As though this dust had never been.
Has vanished from life's busy scene,
This earth shall roll, that sun shall flame,
As though this dust had never been.
When suns have waned, and worlds sublime
Their final revolutions told,
This soul shall triumph over time,
As though such orbs had never rolled.
Their final revolutions told,
This soul shall triumph over time,
As though such orbs had never rolled.
The World We Have Not Seen.
There is a world we have not seen,
That time shall never dare destroy,
Where mortal footstep hath not been,
Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy.
That time shall never dare destroy,
Where mortal footstep hath not been,
Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy.
There is a region lovelier far
Than sages tell or poets sing,
Brighter than summer beauties are,
And softer than the tints of spring.
Than sages tell or poets sing,
Brighter than summer beauties are,
And softer than the tints of spring.
There is a world—and, oh, how blest!
Eairer than prophets ever told;
And never did an angel guest
One half its blessedness unfold.
Eairer than prophets ever told;
And never did an angel guest
One half its blessedness unfold.
It is all holy and serene,
The land of glory and repose;
And there, to dim the radiant scene,
The tear of sorrow never flows.
The land of glory and repose;
And there, to dim the radiant scene,
The tear of sorrow never flows.
It is not fanned by summer gale,
'Tis not refreshed by vernal showers;
It never needs the moonbeam pale,
For there are known no evening hours.
'Tis not refreshed by vernal showers;
It never needs the moonbeam pale,
For there are known no evening hours.