Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow
At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst
For Truth, and see not,--spirits deep immersed
In doubt and trouble,--hearts that fain would know?

The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained
For the divine, because the beautiful,
Now with the body gone, free and unstained,
Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering wool
Before a blast,--e'er Heaven's pure paths are trod
Is perfected to understand its God.




THERE IS NO GOD.


There is no God? If one should stand at noon
Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays,
Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays
And blossoms answering, where the calm lagoon
Gives back the brightness of the heart of June,
And he should say: "There is no sun"--the day's
Fair shew still round him,--should we lose the blaze
And warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon?

Nay, there would be one word, one only thought,
"The man is blind!" and throbs of pitying scorn
Would rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind.