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28 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
Or has thy fancy, with enlivening rays,
Pictured a world more lovely than our own ?
And dost thou on the beauteous vision gaze Until thou almost murmurest to be gone ?
Ne'er has thine eye beheld aught half so fair As those bright fields upon that peaceful strand;
Nor has thine ear heard aught which can compare With the rich anthems of that better land!
Nor has thy fancy e'er conceived the bliss Which, like a flood of light, is resting there;
Thou canst not find in such a world as this Aught like the glory that those landscapes wear.
And askest thou, " Is that bright world for me ?
Shall I behold what Ere hath never seen ? Shall I drink in that gushing melody
Which thus unheard by mortal car hath been ?"
Ah! fathom the deep fountain of thy soul!
Do the bright gems of faith he shining deep ? Do the rough waves of passion cease to roll,
And in a pleasing silence smoothly sleep 1
And is the messenger of peace—the Dove—• Now brooding o'er its still and bright expanse,
With the clear eye of confidence and love Directing far from earth its heavenward glance ? |
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