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How many visions, opening bright,

Have dazzled, cheated, and have fled; How many hopes have sunk in night,

Since thou hast tenanted that bedAnd multitudes whose looks were high,

Like waves, have sparkled, heaved and gone, The voice of war hath thundered by,

And thou, regardless, hast slept on.
That dreamless couch! that peaceful tomb!

0, they do greatly err that tell Its chambers are abodes of gloom,

Where death and terrors only dwell;
For me, I love to think upon

That only refuge of repose,
Along whose depths-cheered by no sun-

The light of resurrection flows.

Thou art one of the chosen band

That ring high harps where splendours glow; I do rejoice—and yet thy hand

I've needed to guide me below. In boyhood's path I missed the care

That thorns detected 'mid the flowers; 0, I had few or none to share

As thou would'st share, and cheer my hours. For I have wandered in a wild

Where disappointment still appears;
Where wast thou Father, when thy child

Trod ways uncertain—oft in tears?
Yet brighter hopes have sometimes shed

Their rays, and I have triumphed too

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In thoughts of that untroubled bed

Whose slumbers are forever true.

Though many years have wandered by

Since I have looked upon thy face; Though thou, hid from my gaze dost lie,

And far from me thy resting placeMy Father! hallowed is the thought

That dwells, and fondly dwells with thee; Dearer in this dim world there's nought,

Than is thy memory to me

'Tis joined with love of her, whose love,

A mother's-cheers my lonely way;
And while I mourn thee now above,

My heart to her would tribute pay.
Rest thou!—I strew not on thy bed

The early flower, yet green and fair
The spot where thou reclin’st thy head,

The memory of the Just is there.

April 29th, 1826.


Fair is the opening grace
That blooms and blushes on the artless maid;

Beauty, unfolding, we delight to trace,
To innocence and youth our earliest vow is paid.
Yet youth is like the flower
That rears its petals on the lap of May;

Who that admires, laments not its brief hour, And cherishing its sweets, asks not a longer stay?

Far lovelier than these,
And dearer to the heart of sober joy

Is she whom the delights of home can please, Who to her bosom clasps her much-loved smiling boy.

0, surely none can tell, What nought but love, parental, e'er can feel

How strong, how tender is the witching spell These dear ones round us fling, from life what cares

they steal.

Graces, though prized, must die;
Yea, even that form of symmetry, shall age

Relentless, humble, and the love-lit eye
That speaks and sparkles now—Time shall its fires


Maternal love still new Still precious, brightens with the touch of years;

0, cheerless is the heart that never knew All of its joys and pangs—its secret smiles and tears.


A Hindoo of a reflecting turn of mind, but devoted to idolatry, Jay on his death bed. As he saw himself about to plunge into that boundless unknown, he cried out, what will become of me?' «O' said a Brahmin who stood by, you will inhabit another body! And where,' said he, shall I go then? • Into another!' . And where then?" into another, and so on, through thousands of millions!' Darting across this whole period, as though it were but an instant, he cried, “Where shall I go then?' and Paganism could not reply.

Thou canst not whisper to that soul

Now pluming for her flight-
Of other worlds that dimly roll

Beyond those orbs of light;
Thou canst not guide her trembling barque

O’er yon uncertain sea;
That ocean-path is wild and dark,

Benighted one to thee.

Thou canst not, boaster as thou art,

Discern another clime;
Nor calm the pulses of the heart

That beats no more for time:
For thou hast never known nor dreamed

Of wisdom's only way;
Upon thee yet hath never beamed

Salvation's guiding ray.

What shall assure thee of a shore

Where dwell the shadowy band,
That ages by-past, went before

To seek that unknown land?

Thy immolations!--can the sigh

Of agony, reveal
Mercy to him, self-doomed to die

Beneath the bloody wheel?

Thine idols ?-though the costly gem

Sparkles around their shrine; Though thou in blindness, unto them

Yield homage, deemed divine-
Know, Pagan! one such secret tear

As penitence lets fall,
Is unction to the heart, more dear,

More holy than them all.


Thou unknown fragment of that scroll

Whose signet was, ere Time began; Ocean, whose waves were wont to roll

Ere God from nothing fashioned manWhence art thou, evanescent Year? Atom! declare, what dost thou here?

Is it, perchance, to mock awhile

With added moments, life's poor day? With cheating vision to beguile

Man that appears and hastes away? Deceitful tide! thy meteor wave Buoys him, yet bears him to his grave.

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