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HAPPINESS.
Thou hast no earthly home, thou radiant guest,
Brief is thy sojourn with the sons of clay;
Thy smiles, like parting sunbeams, scarcely rest
Upon our path, ere they have passed away:
It is in vain we ask their farther stay,—
It may not be, thou hast no dwelling here,
Thou art a winged angel hovering near,
But seldom stooping to our clouded way.
Where flaming cherubim for ever swell
High-pealing anthems on the ambient air,
And harps by seraphs tuned, for ever tell
Immanuel's love and glory—Spirit, there,
There is thy home, thy bright and true abode,
Only a lingerer here, thy birth-place is with God.
