MOUNTAIN CHURCH-YARD.
81
And, for the strength whereby the just and pure
Thus stedfastly endure,
Glory to Him whose victory won that dower,
Him, from whose rising stream'd that robe of spirit power.
Glory to him! Hope to the suffering breast!
Light to the nations! He hath roll'd away
The mists, which, gathering into deathlike rest,
Between the soul and Heaven's calm ether lay—
His love hath made it day
With those that sat in darkness.—Earth and sea!
Lift up glad strains for man by truth divine made free!
