Diversity in Christian Death, from Difference in Belief, . Diversity in Christian Death, from Temperament and Disease, 251 PROEM. TIRED with the sultry noonday toil; Where stately o'er my head, An oak's broad branches, with the sound Of winds on distant errand bound, Their fanning coolness spread, And, glistening through them, far on high, A child once more, I heard the bee, O'er all my senses stole; Till, stretched along the hillock's side, With one short moment's bursting strife, My spirit upward sprung; But on the verge of either life Yet one short moment hung: Above the dead I seemed to bow, I seemed to touch the clay-cold brow, And still the murmuring branches stirred, And, soaring still, the forest bird Sent out its joyous cry. But these were like the scenes of night, And life, as if an inward fount, O'erflowed me and upbore, As on light plumes of love to mount, I was as one who on the main, Has caught and lost a landward strain, That came, and broke, and came again, Mid the hoarse billows' roar, But near as now his vessel floats, Sound matched with sound, the choral notes Pour warbling from the shore: So all which e'er to joy or prayer Had moved my grateful heart, Seemed in one glorious hymn to bear Its own melodious part. The solemn voice of woods and streams; And this fair chain of living things, But oh, with what a bounding thrill The strength that knows not years! The way was passed; and I could stand, As if on Jordan's farther strand ; A wanderer resting at his home, Oh joy, beneath the gathered sail, Oh joy, along the well-fought field, All, all was mine, and battle's din, I took no note of earthly hours; Alike if months or moments sped: > I stretched the wing of inward powers, And far or near might tread: And now it seemed as I had bowed, Where rides in heaven some sabbath cloud, And still a lingering gaze had cast On those green vales whose woes were past. In yon best psalm of happiest days, I praised the Maker's breath that gave He was the brother of the slave, And triumphed by the cross: |