Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/289

288 Yet, lingering on those shores I staid, till every sound was hushed, For hallowed musings o'er my soul, like spring-swollen rivers rushed.

'Tis better, said the Voice within, to bear a Christian's cross, Than sell this fleeting life for gold, which Death shall prove but dross, Far better, when yon shrivelled skies are like a banner furled, To share in Christ's reproach, than gain the glory of the world.