Thine are the echoes strong and deep

Of the true heart's inmost pray'r, When the child of labour seeks in sleep A rest from his daily care.

Thine is the vision clear and bright
Of the hour with rapture fraught,
And the prison'd spirit's fairest flight
To the boundless worlds of thought.

Thine are the holiest whisperings

Of the gale in the forest boughs;
And thine is the incense pure that springs
From a lover's tenderest vows.

Thine are the dewy sweets that fall,
Like gems, on the sleeping flow'rs,
And the footsteps soft that moonbeams call
To the love-delighted bow'rs.

O carry me on thy sable wing
To a bliss without alloy,

And the temples ever echoing

With the strains of heav'nly joy!

For the world is cold, and the earth is far From the land to spirits given;

O'er the silvery track of yon bright star, O carry my soul to Heaven!

THE SPIRIT'S LAND.

Du Land so schön und hoffnungsgrün,
Du Land wo meine Rosen blühn,
Wo meine Träume wandeln gehn,

Wo meine Todten auferstehın !

WERNER.

Es giebt glücklichere Zonen

Als das Land, worin wir leidlich wohnen.

SCHILLER.

I HAVE never liv'd alone

Whene'er the world would not give me love,

I've sprung on the spirit's wings above

To a bright world of my own.

With the staff of Faith in hand,

I borrow wings of the viewless wind,

Leave earth and its sorrows far behind,

And I go to the Spirit's land.

I've a tear and a parting strain

For the gentle souls-there be many such— That shrink like leaves from the wintry touch Of a world they lov'd in vain.

A tear for the bitter woes,

That, lightning-like, o'er the spirit glide,

And blanch the cheek, when affection's tide On the young heart backward flows.

To the Spirit's land I go;

O'er the silver track of the pale moonbeam,
I travel, swift as the lightning's gleam,
Far away from the world below.

They are there, and they welcome me— The gentle souls, in whose love sincere

I had found repose, while they linger'd here, Full of joyous sympathy.

Like the soft, sweet breath of even, They glide, but without a sound or stir, As on paths of the delicate gossamer, And they whisper me tales of Heav'n.

My only Brother too!

He is dwelling there, and he welcomes me To the land where our spirits light and free In affection live anew.

It is not an idle dream

He is there, and he greets me fondly now, With the smile that once o'er his manly brow Would shoot like a bright sunbeam.

Father in Heav'n! thy will

Be done! be prais'd! With a Father's hand, Thou hast taken him to the happy land,

Where he lives and loves me still.