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THE FOREST SANCTUARY.


LXXXVI.

And more than all, the Heaven of that sad smile!
The lip of mercy, our immortal trust!
Did not that look, that very look, erewhile,
Pour its o'ershadow'd beauty on the dust?
Wert thou not such when earth's dark cloud hung o'er thee?
—Surely thou wert!—my heart grew hush'd before thee,
Sinking with all its passions, as the gust
Sank at thy voice, along its billowy way:—

—What had I there to do, but kneel, and weep, and pray?


LXXXVII.

Amidst the stillness rose my spirit's cry
Amidst the dead—"By that full cup of woe,
Press'd from the fruitage of mortality,
Saviour! for thee—give light! that I may know
If by thy will, in thine all-healing name,
Men cast down human hearts to blighting shame,
And early death—and say, if this be so,
Where then is mercy?—whither shall we flee,

So unallied to hope, save by our hold on thee?
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