Evening Prayer.

233

Rev. Thomas Dale.

EVENING PRAYER.

SHOULD Some seraph wing his flight,
From the realms of cloudless light,
Earth and ocean soaring over,
Where would he delight to hover?

Not o'er halls of regal pride;
Not o'er fields with carnage dyed,
Where, 'mid shouts of triumph breathing,
Fame the hero's brow is wreathing;

Not o'er cells of letter'd age;
Not o'er haunts of hoary sage;
Not where youthful poet stealing,
Woos the muse's warm revealing;

Not o'er wood and shadowy vale
Where the lover tells his tale,
And the blush-love's fondest token-
Speaks what words had never spoken ;

Not where music's silver sound
Wakes the dormant echoes round,
And with charms as pure as tender,
Holds the heart in pleased surrender.

O'er the calm sequester'd spot,
O'er the lone and lowly cot,
Where its little hands unwreathing,
Childhood's guileless prayer is breathing :

While the gentle mother nigh,
Points her daughter's prayer on high,
To the God whose goodness gave her,
To the God whose love shall save her ;—

There, awhile, the Son of light
Would arrest his rapid flight;

Thence would bear, to heaven ascending,
Prayers with heartfelt praises blending.

Gladly would he soar above,

With the sacrifice of love;

And through Heaven's expanded portal,

Bear it to the throne immortal!

Yes-all may grace one mortal day,

That warms the heart and wins the eye,
And gives each ardent strength to stray
From rapture to satiety.

Wealth, glory, grandeur throned on high-
And that which melts the heart of stone,
The magic beams of Beauty's eye-
But Time glides on-and all are gone.

And thou-whom Heaven's high will denies
To soar above thy fellow-men,

For thee as dear a home may rise

In village cot, or mountain glen; Where, loving and beloved again, Thy hopes-thy heart may rest on one;

Oh! what is life?-Time flies, and then Death speeds his dart—and both are gone.

And thou too, wretch-forbear to weep,
Thy misery need not last for aye,
Why feed the thought that else might sleep?
Why waste in hopeless grief away?

Deserted in thy darker day,

If friends are fled and thou alone,

Thy God will

firmer prove a

stay

Seek him-Time flies-and thou art gone.

Oh! where are all the gauds of earth

Love's melting smile-young Beauty's bloom, The pomp of wealth-the pride of birth— Are these remember'd in the tomb? No-sunk in cold oblivion's gloom

They lie their very names unknown—

The mouldering marble tells their doomThey lived-Time fled—and they are gone.

So thou shalt fall-but dost thou deem

To sleep in peace beneath the sod? Dash from thy soul that empty dream,

And know thyself-and know thy God. Nor earth, nor time restrains his rod; And thou-a few short summers flown,

Thou tread'st the path thy fathers trod— Thy doom is fixed, and hope is gone,

Chain'd to the dust from whence we spring, Why thus from yon bright skies be driven; Oh! turn to your Eternal King;

Believe-repent, and be forgiven,

Haste, seize the proffer'd hope of heaven, While life and light are yet thine own;

Swift as the passing cloud of even, Time glides along-and thou art gone.

The Mother's Grief.

237

WEEP NOT FOR ME.

When the spark of life is waning,
Weep not for me;

When the languid eye is straining,
Weep not for me.

When the feeble pulse is ceasing,
Start not at its swift decreasing,
"T is the fettered soul's releasing ;
Weep not for me.

When the pangs of death assail me,
Weep not for me;

Christ is mine-he cannot fail me,

Weep not for me.

Yes, though sin and doubt endeavour
From his love my soul to sever,
Jesus is my strength for ever-
Weep not for me.

THE MOTHER'S GRIEF.

To mark the sufferings of the babe
That cannot speak its woe;
To see the infant tears gush forth,

Yet know not why they flow;