THE GRAVE. There is a calm for those who weep, Low in the ground. The storm that wrecks the winter sky Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head To slumber in that dreamless bed For misery stole me at my birth, Take home thy Child. On thy dear lap these limbs reclined Nor leave one wretched trace behind The Grave. Hark! !—a strange sound affrights mine ear; -Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear? "I am THE Grave! "The Grave, that never spake before, "Art thou a Wretch of hope forlorn, By fell despair? "Do foul misdeeds of former times Wring with remorse thy guilty breast? Murder thy rest? "Lash'd by the furies of the mind, 66 39 From Wrath and Vengeance wouldst thou flee? Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find A friend in me. By all the terrors of the tomb, By the dread secrets of my womb; By Death and Hell; "I charge thee, LIVE!-repent and pray; In dust thine infamy deplore ; There yet is mercy; go thy way, And sin no more. "Art thou a MOURNER?-Hast thou known The joy of innocent delights, Endearing days for ever flown, And tranquil nights? "O LIVE!—and deeply cherish still The sweet remembrance of the past: Rely on Heaven's unchanging will For peace at last. "Art thou a WANDERER ?-Hast thou seen O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark? A shipwreck'd sufferer hast thou been, 66 Misfortune's mark? Though long of winds and waves the sport, "TO FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame, And was thy friend a deadly foe, Who stole into thy breast to aim The Grave. "LIVE!—and repine not o'er his loss, A loss unworthy to be told: Thou hast mistaken sordid dross For friendship's gold. "Seek the true treasure, seldom found, "Did WOMAN'S charms thy youth beguile, "LIVE!-'T was a false bewildering fire: Too often Love's insidious dart Thrills the fond soul with wild desire, But kills the heart. "Thou yet shalt know, how sweet, how dear, "A nobler flame shall warm thy breast, 41 -Whate'er thy lot,-whoe'er thou be,— Confess thy folly,-kiss the rod, And in thy chastening sorrows see The hand of God. "A bruised reed He will not break; He wounds them for his mercy's sake, "Humbled beneath his mighty hand, Prostrate his Providence adore : 'Tis done!-Arise! He bids thee stand, To fall no more. "Now, traveller in the vale of tears, To realms of everlasting light, Through Time's dark wilderness of years, Pursue thy flight. “There is a calm for those who weep, Low in the ground, "The Soul, of origin divine, GOD's glorious image, freed from clay, A star of day. |