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SONNET.
Unhappy he, who breathes this mortal breath,
A stranger to the high and generous faith,
Which lifts the spirit o'er the bonds of death,
Ev'n with the words the blessed Saviour saith—
"I am the resurrection and the life;
He who believes on me shall never die."
O! tidings rich with immortality,
How do we greet ye, 'mid this world's vain strife.
It is not then a dream—the hope so bright,
Which heathen nations have desired to see,
It shines on us with full and heavenly light,
Glorious and beautiful! Oh! who would flee
Its gentle guidance, and its peaceful trust,
For the dim visions of this world of dust?
A stranger to the high and generous faith,
Which lifts the spirit o'er the bonds of death,
Ev'n with the words the blessed Saviour saith—
"I am the resurrection and the life;
He who believes on me shall never die."
O! tidings rich with immortality,
How do we greet ye, 'mid this world's vain strife.
It is not then a dream—the hope so bright,
Which heathen nations have desired to see,
It shines on us with full and heavenly light,
Glorious and beautiful! Oh! who would flee
Its gentle guidance, and its peaceful trust,
For the dim visions of this world of dust?
