Page:Poems of Mrs. Frances B.M. Brotherson.djvu/156

 134 THE DEATH OF MOSES. Dot the rich landscape with refreshing shade; The streamlet flows in quiet beauty there, 8ave the faint ripple of its glancing wave; And the soft shadows on the waving grass Give quiet to the heart and calm repose, 8o fair to look upon ! His spirit seemed Entranced with rare delight and feeble sense, E'en for a time forgot the higher bliss, So soon to be his own, in the fond wish To tread amid those hills and shaded vales That long had filled full many a waking thought, And formed the brightness of his happy dreams. For this he wandered day by day, And counted weariness a thing as naught. Never! Oh never! should his fevered brow Know the soft gales that wandered o'er that land. Never ! Oh never ! in its radiant light, Amid his brethren, proud and free to stand, He husbeth vain regret and vanished hope, And laying off earth's faded pilgrim robe, Unties his sandals, putting down the staff, And as a monarch, entering on his power, With calm benignity he goeth home,- Home ! to a clime, oh brighter, fairer far, Than that whose beauty mocked his longing gaze. Alone with God and angels, on the mount!