And each shall have his own.—Hence ye profane,
Ask not; how this can be?—Sure the same pow'r
That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down,
Can re-assemble the loose scatter'd parts,
And put them as they were.—Almighty God
Has done much more; nor is his arm-impair'd
Thro' length of days. And what he can; he will:
His faithfulness stands bound to see is done!
When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumb'ring dust,
(Not unattentive to the call,) shall wake:
And ev'ry joint possess its proper place,
With a new elegance of form, unknown
To its first state.—Nor shall the Conscious soul
Mistake its partner, bat amidst the croud,
Singling its other half, into its aims
Shall rush, with all th' impatience of a man
That's new come home, who having long been absent
With haste runs over ev'ry different room,
In pain to see the whole.—Thrice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more.
'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night,
We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.
Thus, at the shut of ev'n, the weary bird
Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake
Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day,
Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.
FINIS
