The Portrait.
O, arms of protection, now folded so still!—
Alone in the world, so wide and so chill!
O, eyes that would glow in a worshipful gaze!—
They’ll bless me no more with their love-beaming rays!
O, heart of devotion! thy warm throbbings o’er
Can give me asylum from sorrow no more.
* * * * *
O, veil it!—this lifeless creation of art—
The perfect is sacredly shrined in my heart!
Not silent, compassionless, framed in with gold,
Nor mantled with shadows of coffin and mould,
But youthful and strong and warm with the fire
That glows in a soul lit with noble desire.
Ay, thought gropeth not thro’ the darkness and gloom
Where the mortal is held in the bonds of the tomb.
Progression is stamped by the hand of God’s love;
The life coming after to this is above!
Our faith reaches up to the realms of bliss,
The sphere He has fashioned—the Home beyond this.
The deeds that gave blessing in the pathways of earth
Give impress and form to the Heavenly birth.
That face, beaming ever with the glorified light
Won here, in defending convictions of Right,
My soul, in its holy of holies, where free
From earth’s thronging distractions in spirit I see.
This portrait I gaze on—the glorified one—
And that is, to this, as a star, to the sun.