The Hillsborough Recorder

Dreams of Women

Lo, the seal of Death is breaking,
Those who slept its sleep are waking—
Eden opes her portals fair!
Hark, the harps of God are ringing,
Hark, the seraphs' hymn is singing,
And the living rills are flinging
Music on immortal air!

There no more at eve declining
Suns without a cloud are shining
O'er the land of life and love;
Heaven's own harvest woo the reaper,
Heaven's own dreams entrance the sleeper,
Not a tear is left the weeper
To profane one flower above.

No frail lilies there are breathing,
There no thorny rose is wreathing
In the bowers of paradise;—
Where the founts of life are flowing
Flowers unknown to time are blowing;
Mid superber verdure glowing
Than is sunn'd by mortal skies.

There the groves of God, that never
Fade or fall, are green for ever,
Mirror'd in the radiant tide;
There, along the sacred waters
Unprofaned by tears or slaughters,
Wander earth's immortal daughters,
Each a pure immortal's bride.

There no sigh of memory swelleth,
There no tear or misery dwelleth,
Hearts will bleed or break no more;
Past is all the cold world's scorning,
Gone the night, and broke the morning,
With seraphic day adorning
Life's glad waves and golden shore.

Oh, on that bright shore to wander,
Trace those radiant waves' meander,
All we loved and lost to see
Is this hope, so pure, so splendid
Vainly with our being blended?
No! with Time ye are not ended,
Visions of Eternity.