Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains:
There will I kiss

The bowl of bliss;

And drink mine everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill:

My soul will be a-dry before;
But after, it will thirst no more.
Then by that happy blestful day,

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.
I'll take them first

To quench their thirst

And taste of nectar suckets,

At those clear wells

Where sweetness dwells

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,

Then the blessed paths we'll travel,
Strowed with rubies thick as gravel;
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.
From thence to heaven's bribeless hall,
There no corrupted voices brawl;

No conscience molten into gold,

No forged accuser brought or sold,

No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey;
For there is Christ, the King's Attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.

And when the grand twelve-million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury,

Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.

Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms;
Not with a bribed lawyer's palms.

And this is mine eternal plea

To him that made heaven, earth, and sea,

That, since my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,

Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread,

Set on my soul an everlasting head.

Then an I ready, like a palmer fit;

To tread those blest paths which before I writ

In the Victorian poems the note of exultation and

hallelujah has changed to a more sublime and somber one

with a touch of sadness and at times of doubt. The mater

ial reward is changing to a spiritual reward.

AT HOME IN HEAVEN,

By Montgomery.

(Vic. An. page 168)

"Forever with the Lord!

Amen, so let it be;

Life from the dead is in that word,
"Tis immortality.

Here in the body pent,
Absent from him I roam,

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.

My Father's house on high,
Home of my soul, how near
At times, to faith's foreseeing eye,
Thy golden gates appear!

Yet clouds will intervene,
And all my prospect flies;
Like Noah's dove I flit between
Rough seas and stormy skies.

Anon the clouds dispart,

The winds and waters cease,
While sweetly o'er my gladden'd heart
Expands the bow of peace.

Then, then I feel that he,
Remember'd or forgot,

The Lord is never far from me,

Though I perceive him not."

The Island of love, tranquillity, and peace is Heaven.

In the following poem the note of triumph has softened to a whisper of love.

THE ISLAND OF SHADOWS

By Richard Garnett

(Vic. An. page 330).

"For Love dwells with the dead, though more
sedate,

Chasten'd, and mild it seems;

While Avarice, Envy, Jealousy, and Hate,
With them are only dreams.

No word has pass'd thy lips, but yet I know
Well where our course will be;

We leave the worn-out world - is it not so?-
The uncorrupted sea.

To cross, and gain some isle in whose sweet shade
Even Slavery is free;

And careless Care on smoothest rose-leaves laid
Becomes Tranquillity.

Seclusion, quiet, silence, slumber, dreams,
No murmur of a breath;

The same still image on the same still streams,
Of Love caressing Death.

་་

In the beautiful little poem entitled "Let me be

with Thee," by Charlotte Elliott (see Vic. An., page 169),

earthly joys and earthly love have all been lost in the

love for the Divine Saviour.