THOUGHTS FROM BULWER.

I. It cannot be that earth was given for our abiding place, Or that for nought we’re darkly doomed the storms of life to face; It cannot be our being’s cast from ’neath the ocean wave Of vast Eternity, to sink again within its grave. Else tell me why the aspiring thoughts, the glorious hopes of man, Which spring up from his ‘heart of hearts,’ brook not earth’s narrow span; Oh! tell me why unsatisfied forever here they roam, And seem to claim in higher spheres a refuge and a home. II. Why is it that the rainbow and the tints of evening clouds Dispel the mists in which the world our spirits still enshrouds? The chord they strike!—oh, tell me not that it can be of earth— The golden heart-string that they touch is not of mortal birth: The very buds and blossoms, and the balmy summer air, Awake within us shadows vague of things more bright and fair; ’Tis almost like remembrance—oh! would that I could tell The meaning of that hidden charm my spirit knows so well! III. A simple tone can rouse it; a smile, or even a sigh Can make the ghost-like shadows flit before my dreaming eye; ’Tis one of life’s deep mysteries; in vain we seek to trace The hidden spell’s dark origin that chains our feeble race: But, oh! may we not fancy, may we not sweetly think, ’Tis between us and another world a dim mysterious link? May we not hope that secret chord from God to man was given, To shadow forth within his soul pure images of heaven? IV. The very stars which pierce the veil far o’er this world of sin, And seem to give faint visions of a paradise within, In all their hallowed loveliness, their vague and mystic lore, Oh! do they not seem beckoning to a purer, holier shore? And tell me why the well-loved eyes which here upon us beam Gleam radiantly o’er our path, then vanish like a dream; My Mother! oh! my Mother! shall they find belief in me, Who tell me there’s no happy land where I shall meet with thee? V. I know there is a heaven which is peopled not with shades, Where the buds and flowers ne’er wither, and the rainbow never fades: Where the mourners cease from mourning, and in smiles of joy are drest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest: Oh! there is gladness in the thought; ’tis deep, deep joy to me To feel that those I love so well I there again shall see; To know that though around them now my very heart-strings twine, They’ll be forever with me there—forever more be mine!