Sonnet Iv Poem by John Bowring

From time to time there is a warning voice
Which, in the various shapes of grief and pain
And disappointment, gives us hopes, not vain,
That, shelter'd from this mean world's turbulent noise,
We shall repose in silence-or rejoice
In living blessedness-where all the train
Of mortal sorrows enter not-and reign
Where pleasure never wanes and never cloys.
And these are lovely hopes-and these alone
Help us the burden of our woes to bear,-
While we press forward to yon yet-veil'd throne,
Whose twilight brightness we just see-and hear
The music that surrounds it. Here we groan-
But not a sigh or tear was ever there.