A bride but yesterday—all hope and love,—
Flowers at her feet and cloudless skies above,
Bright buds of promise twining round her brow,
Approach—approach and gaze upon her now!
Come not in festal robes as once ye came,
The bride is here but she is not the same
As when ye saw her to the altar led,
And called down blessings on her fair young head.
The cheek is pale that with the rose could vie,
There is no lustre in that rayless eye,
Upon those pallid lips there is no breath,
And she alas is now the bride of Death!
Henceforth what soul will ever dare to trust
In things that crumble at a breath to dust?
And who would dream of earthly joy and bliss
Taught by a lesson terrible as this?

Short-sighted mortal hastening to the tomb,
Gaze on the scene, and realize thy doom!
All tongues and nations mingle with the clay;
Art thou less subject unto death than they?
The conquerors of the world have left their throne
Before a mandate mightier than their own,—
Rank, pride and power have sunk into the grave,
And Caesar moulders with the meanest slave.
Canst thou escape his all-destroying breath
And bid defiance to the victor Death?
What strange enchantment has allured thine eyes?
Shake off the spell! immortal soul, arise!
Oh, burst thy fetters ere it be too late,
Regain thy freedom and thy lost estate,—
A thousand angels hover round thy track,
They plead with thee, they long to lead thee back.

The sacrifice too great? bethink thee, soul!
A few more suns above thy head may roll,
A few at most and thou wilt trembling stand
Just on the borders of the spirit land.
Who ever stood there calm and undismayed,
And smiled to see all earthly prospects fade?
Not he who lived for things of time alone,
Who won a name, a fortune or a throne;
Who added field to field, and store to store,
And cried at last, "Oh, for one moment more!"
But he whose eye could pierce the dreary tomb,
He who could say amid the gathering gloom,—
"There is my home and there my Saviour stands
With smiling brow and with extended hands!"
Would'st thou depart with that exulting cry,
In glorious hope of immortality?
Thy heart all joy, and praise thy latest breath?
The holy life insures the happy death!
Oh, thou wilt wonder in that trying hour.

When home, and love, and friendship lose their power
To cheer and comfort, thou could'st ever prize
What then will sink to nothing in thine eyes—
Time for repentance then? beware! beware!
How many souls are yearly shipwrecked there!
Like him of old they cry—"Go now thy way"—
And keep repentance for their dying day;
But God is jealous of his honor still,
He asks a ready mind, a hearty will,
And those who through a life-time break his laws,
Despite his mercy and his glorious cause,
Who seek their own enjoyment and their ease,
And only yield when death demandeth these,—
May find too late they were deceived at last,
And mourn the summer and the harvest past!

There's not in heaven itself a lovelier sight,
Nor one which angels view with more delight,
Than youthful soldiers of Immanuel's cross,
In life's glad morning counting all as loss,
Since they have proved a dying Saviour's love,
And placed their treasures and their hearts above.
Let pleasure woo them with her syren voice,
They heed her not—they've made a nobler choice;
Let others walk the shining path of fame,
They dare to suffer poverty and shame,
And turning from the world's enchanted bowers,
To consecrate their youth and all their powers
To Him they serve, and even here they find
More real pleasure than they e'er resigned.

The best they have in early life they bring
A free-will offering to their God and King;
And in that hour when heart and flesh shall fail,
Their song of triumph ringing through the vale,
Will mingle with the anthems of the blest,
Who wait to hail them to their heavenly rest.
Would'st thou depart with that exulting cry
In glorious hope of immortality?
I read an answer in that beaming face,
Behold thy Saviour—fly to his embrace!