The Lord of life, and sing our song of hope,
That death has lost his sting, the grave his triumph.
CORDENIUS.
(Taking the hand of Sylvius, and then of several other Christians.)
The blessed faith and sense of what we are
Comes on my heart, like streams of beamy light
Pour'd from some opening cloud. O to conceive
What lies beyond the dim, dividing veil
Of regions bright, of blest and glorious being!
FATHER.
What heart hath ne'er conceived, nor tongue could utter.
CORDENIUS.
With all its sparks of light, as a grand cope
For the benighted world. But now my fancy
Will greet each twinkling star, as the bright lamp
Of some fair angel on his guardian watch.
And think ye not, that from their lofty stations
Our future glorious home, our Father's house.
May lie within the vast and boundless ken
Of such seraphic powers?
