FUTURITY.

What of our life when this frail flesh lies low

A withered clod, and the free soul has burst

Through the world-fetters? Not of souls accursed

With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow

Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow

At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst

For Truth, and see not,— spirits deep immersed

In doubt and trouble,— hearts that fain would know?

The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained

For the divine, because the beautiful,

Now with the body gone, free and unstained,

Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering wool

Before a blast,— e'er Heaven's pure paths are trod

Is perfected to understand its God.