John Bowring Poems

What is our duty here? to tend
From good to better, thence to best:
Grateful to drink life's cup-then bend
Unmurmuring to our bed of rest;
...

My task of duty's done,
The glorious fight is won,
My course is finished-and I look on high:
And now, Almighty Lord!
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Is it not death to summon all
The records of the past-to call,
From every niche in Memory's hall,
The fancies of departed hours,
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O sweet and sacred is the rest
Round the departed Christian's breast;
Serene the pillow of his head,
And sanctified his funeral bed.
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Close the sabbath-day in joy,
Close the sabbath-day in praise;
O how lovely the employ,
Anthems in God's name to raise!
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The restless-restless sea,
By night,-by day,-in ebb and flow,-
Yet every shifting tide, we know,
Is driven by that eternal law
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He is not here-He is not here-
Could death the Son of Life imprison?
Now check the sigh and wipe the tear,
For lo! the Lord, the Lord is risen.
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Not in shifting undulations
Has the word of God been spoken,
But in constant revelations,
Never silent, never broken.
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'Tis the same great all-influencing Cause,
The source of those inexorable laws
Which gives its motion to the mountain rill,
...

The age for damning, dogmatizing creeds,
Thanks to the power of Truth, has passed away,
...