Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1852-05-06
A vision of Immortality.

i ne QeplllS Vi Tie uHtLOuuCh Wh0SAhSoSJ
And she shall teach thee. Thou hast learned
One lesson-and her Hymn of Death hath fall
With melancholy sweetness on thine ear;
Yet she shall tell thee with myriad tongue
That Life is there-life in uncounted forms
Stealing in silence through the hidden roots,
In every branch that swings-in the green
leaves,
And waving grain, and the gay summer flowers,
That gladden. the beholder. Listen now,
And he shall teach thee that the dead have
slept
But to awaken in more glorious forms
And that the mystery of the seeds decay
Is but the promise of the coming life.
Each towering oak that lifts its living head
To the broad sunlight in eternal strength,
Glories to tell thee that the acorn died.
The flowers that spring above their last year s
grave
Are eloquent with the voice of life and hope
And the green trees clap their rejoicing hands
Waving in triumph DER the earth's decay
Yet not alone shall flower and forest raise
The voice of triumph and the hymn of life.
The insect brood are there each painted wing
That futters in the sunshine, broke out now
From the close cerements of a worms own
shroud,
Is telling, as it flies. how life may spring
In its glad beauty from the gloom of death,
Where the crushed mould beneath the sunken
foot
Seems but the sepuchre Of old decay.
Turn thou koener glance, and thou shalt find
The gathered myriads of mimic world.
The breath of evening and the sultry morn
Bears on its wing cloud of witnesses,
That earth from her unnumbered caves of death
Sends forth mightier tide of teeming life.
Raise then the Hymn to Immortality!
The broad green prairies and the wilderness,
And the old cities where the dead have slept,
Age upon age, thousand graves in one,
Shall yet be crowded with the living forms
Of myriads. waking from the silent dust.
Kings that lay down in state, and earth's poor
slaves,
Resting together in one fond embrace,
The white haired patriarch and the tender babe,
Grown old together in the fight of years,
They of immortal fame, and they whose praise
Was never sounded in the ears of men,
Archon and priest, and the poor common
crowd
All the vast concourse in the halls of death,
Shall waken from the dreams of silent years
To hail the dawn of the immortal day.
Ay, learn the lesson, Though the worm shall
be
Thy brother in the mystery of death
And all shall pass, humble and proud and gay
Together, to earth's mighty charnel-house,
Yet the Immortal is thy heritage!
The grave shall gather thee; yet thou shalt
come,
Beggar or prince, not as thou wentest forth,
In rags or purple, but arrayed as those
Whose mortal puts on immortality!
Then mourn not when thou markest the decay
Of Nature, and her solemn hymn of death
Steals with note of sadness to thy heart.
That other voice, with its rejoicing tones,
Breaks from the mould with every bursting
flower,
"Oh grave thy victoryy'' And thou. o man,
Burdened with sorrow at the woes that crowd
Thy narrow heritage, lift up thy head
In the strong hope of the undying life,
And shout the Hymn to Immortality
The dear departed that have passed away
To the still house of death, leaving thine own.
The gray haired sire that died in blessing thee,
Mother or sweet-lpped babe or she who gave
Thy home the light and bloom of Paradise
They shall be thine again, when thou shalt pass
At Gods appointment, through the shadowy
vale,
To reach the sunlight of the IMMORTAL HILLS.
And thou that gloriest to lie down with kings,
Thine uncrowned head now lowlier than theirs,
Seek thou the loftier glory to be known,
A king and priest to God when thou shalt
pass
Forth from these silent halls to take thy place
With patriarchs and prophets and the blest
Gone up from, every land to people heaven.
So live, that when the mighty caravan,
Which halts one nighttime in the vale Of
Death,
Shall strike its white tents for the morning
march,
Thou shalt mount onward to tie Eternal Hills
Thy feet unwearied, and thy strength renewed
Like the strong eagles for the upward fight.