The home beyond, or, Views of heaven and its relation to earth . e. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen;Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed,And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foa
The home beyond, or, Views of heaven and its relation to earth . e. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen;Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed,And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,And coid as the spray of the rock-beaten surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown, And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broken in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS. OR VIEWS OF HEAVEN. 101 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. The world is filled with the voices of the dead. They speaknot from the public records of the great world only, but from theprivate history of our own experience. They speak to us in athousand remembrances, in a thousand incidents, events, speak to us, not only from their silent graves, but from thethrong of life. Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with theirpresence. They are with us, by the silent fireside and in the secludedchamber: they are with us in the paths of society, and in the crowdedassembly of men. They speak to us from the lonely way-side; andthey speak to us, from the venerable walls that echo to the steps of amultitude, and to the voice of prayer. Gro where we will, the dead arewith us. We live, we converse, with those, who once lived and con-versed, with us. Their well remembered tone mingles wi
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