Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/91

Here, 'midst the chambers of the Christian's sleep,
We o'er death's gulf may look with trusting eye,
For hope sits, dove-like, on the gloomy deep,
And the green hills wherein these valleys lie
        Seem all one sanctuary
Of holiest thought—nor needs their fresh bright sod,
Urn, wreath, or shrine, for tombs all dedicate to God.

Christ hath arisen!—O mountain peaks! attest,
Witness, resounding glen and torrent wave,
The immortal courage in the human breast
Sprung from that victory—tell how oft the brave
        To camp 'midst rock and cave,
Nerved by those words, their struggling faith have borne,
Planting the cross on high above the clouds of morn.

The Alps have heard sweet hymnings for to-day—
Ay, and wild sounds of sterner, deeper tone,