Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/226

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But Thou who didst on Calvary die Flows not thy mercy wide and free? Thou, who didst rend of death the tie, Is Nature's seal too strong for thee?

And Thou, Oh Spirit pure, whose rest Is with the lowly, contrite train, Illume the temple of her breast, And cleanse of latent ill the stain.

That she, whose pilgrimage below Was night that never hoped a morn, That undeclining day may know Which of eternity is born.

The great transition who can tell! When from the ear its seal shall part Where countless lyres seraphic swell, And holy transport thrills the heart.

When the chain'd tongue which ne'er might pour The broken melodies of time, Shall to the highest numbers soar, Of everlasting praise sublime,

When those blind orbs which ne'er might trace The features of their kindred clay, Shall scan of Deity the face, And glow with rapture's deathless ray.

 

Hail hallow'd morn!—made sacred by their birth, Who fondly o'er my waking dream of life, 