The Changed Tree
I DREAMT last night of Eden—
The Eden early made:
Where saints await their guerdon
Till all on earth shall fade.
The lambkin and the lion
Lay couched in happy sleep,
And all the songs of Zion
Were echoing true and deep.
The centre of the Garden
Was filled by the Tree:
The Tree of Human Pardon
That grew on Calvary.
It bore no Burden of Divine,
No type of Heaven's Loss,
But branches of the Only Vine
Were wreathed about the Cross.
The leaves for healing nations
Were clustered on the boughs:
With laurel of salvations,
That grows for martyr brows.
I saw the Sharon roses,
And Mary lilies pale,
Pure cup that never closes,
The Vessel of the Grail.
The happy saints were winging
To their deserved joys:
I heard the angels singing,
And, 'mid the martyr boys
I saw, ere vision left me,
The dearly-loved dark head
Of one so late bereft me;
I knew not he was dead!