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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.
0, they do greatly err that tell Its chambers are abodes of gloom,
Where death and terrors only dwell;
That only refuge of repose,
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;
Trod ways uncertain—oft in tears?
Their rays, and I have triumphed too
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;
My heart to her would tribute pay.
The early flower, yet green and fair
The memory of the Just is there.
April 29th, 1826.
Fair is the opening grace
Beauty, unfolding, we delight to trace,
Who that admires, laments not its brief hour, And cherishing its sweets, asks not a longer stay?
Far lovelier than these,
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
Graces, though prized, must die;
Relentless, humble, and the love-lit eye
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.
PAGANISM COULD NOT REPLY.
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-
Beyond those orbs of light;
O’er yon uncertain sea;
Benighted one to thee.
Thou canst not, boaster as thou art,
Discern another clime;
That beats no more for time:
Of wisdom's only way;
Salvation's guiding ray.
What shall assure thee of a shore
Where dwell the shadowy band,
To seek that unknown land?
Thy immolations!--can the sigh
Of agony, reveal
Beneath the bloody wheel?
Thine idols ?-though the costly gem
Sparkles around their shrine; Though thou in blindness, unto them
Yield homage, deemed divine-
As penitence lets fall,
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.