MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To thee! it is to all, whose anchor'd faith Enters beyond Death's transient veil of gloom; But oh! how perfect was thy living death, Who wert thyself thine own unjoyous tomb! 225 Those darken'd eyes no more obstruct the day, That mind no more spurns Reason's blest controul, Far from its ruin'd tenement of clay, All eye, all reason, soars the happy soul. Dull are those ears no more, but raptur'd, share Notes far from Earth's best harmony remov'd; But oh! of all the heavenly music there, Is not the sweetest, every voice belov'd? Say, as the hour of blissful death drew nigh, Did not around thy couch bright angels stand, Reveal'd in vision to thy mental eye, "And sweetly whisper-" Join our kindred band!" Leave thy poor crown of earth, whose every gem Was but the dew-drop glittering on the thorn; For thee ev'n now, a brighter diadem, Cluster'd with beams, by seraph hands is borne.
