Lewisburg Chronicle

I would not Live alway.

This finished poetical composition may be found in most of the Hymn Books of our country. It was written by a Protestant Episcopal clergyman, Muhlenberg by name, and first published in the Philadelphia Episcopal Recorder, about the year 1824. It appeared anonymously, but has won its way to the popular heart. The author still preaches to a congregation in Sixth Avenue, New York, and also edits The Evangelical Catholic, in a late issue of which he publishes the following revised copy of the original :—[Lewisburg Chron.]

'I would not Live alway.'—Job vii. 16.

I would not live alway—live alway below!
Oh, no, I'll not linger, when bidden to go.
The days of our pilgrimage granted us here,
Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.

Would I shrink from the path which the prophets of God
Apostles, and martyrs, so joyfully trod?
While brethren and friends are all hastening home,
Like a spirit unblessed, o'er the earth would I roam?

I would not live alway—I ask not to stay
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way:
Where, seeking for peace, we but hover around,
Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found;

Where hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air,
Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night of despair;
And joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray,
Save the gloom of the plumage that bears him away.

I would not live alway—thus fettered by sin,
Temptation without, and corruption within;
In a moment of strength, if I sever the chain,
Scarce the victory's mine, ere I'm captive again.

E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears,
And my cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears;
The festival trump calls for jubilant songs,
But my spirit her own 'Te Deum' prolongs.

I would not live alway—no, welcome the tomb;
Since Jesus has lain there, I dread not its gloom;
Where He deigned to sleep, I'll too bow my head,
Oh, peaceful the slumbers on that hallowed bed.

And then the glad dawn soon to follow that night,
When the sunrise of glory shall beam on my sight,
When the full matin song, as the sleepers arise
To shout in the morning, shall peal through the skies.

Who, who would live alway? away from his God,
Away from yon Heaven, that blissful abode,
Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;

Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet
Their Savior and brethren transported to greet;
While the songs of salvation exultingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.

That heavenly music! what is it I hear?
The notes of the harpers ring sweet in the air:
And see, soft unfolding, those portals of gold!
The King all arrayed, in His beauty behold!

O give me, O give me the wings of a dove!
Let me hasten my flight to those mansions above!
Aye, 'tis now that my soul on swift pinions would soar,
And in ecstacy bid earth adieu evermore.