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0, never, never may the sigh
Of agony severe,
Be dimmed with Misery's tear.
O YE to whom God's word reveals its privileges blest, Who hold the pearl without a price-think, think
upon the West! And think, as every precious boon of heaven comes
up in view, Of those that joyed where now ye joy, that wor
shipped once with you, For we have left our sunbright homes, the scenes of
early day, Our pleasant hearths, and all we loved, to wander
In wilds where voice of Sabbath bell breaks not
upon the air, Where lifted not are hands in praise, nor bent the
knee in prayer;
And where come o’er the labʼring heart its white
winged happy hours, While warm tears gush, a tribute given to light that
once was ours:
O ye who bless its diamond spark, lit up within the
breast, Think what it is to mourn it quenched, think
upon the West!
The past!—we fain would dwell upon the
Though sad it is to read of joys too beautiful to last; Yet we will yield in thought again, unto his fond
Who listened to our lisping prayer, and said that
God would bless; Aye, and we feel the mother's kiss, which only she
could give, When teaching us to bow the heart to Him who
bade us live. We think, too, on the white-haired man who chid
our careless youth, And well remember where his lips dropped sacred
words of truth. And sadly comes to aching thought, with memory's
quickened power, The Bible class, the Sunday-school, and Prayer's
rejoicing hour. O ye who revel in this light, who hear the gospel
blest, Give praise to God, and succour here;-0 think
upon the West!
Here where tall forests wave their tops, the wild
beast hath his den, The eagle hath her eyry built, unknown to steps of
men; And small birds hang their mossy nests, on many a
branching limb, And yield at evening's peaceful hour, their pure and
But for us rise no temple-walls, nor points the spire
to heaven, 0, many faint for Bread of Life,--to break it, none
are given! Oft, too, by men who lust for gain, these solitudes
are trod, Who cast off fear, refrain from prayer, foes to
themselves and God; The stillness of these lovely vales is broken by their
curse; By reckless sires the children led, soon wax from
bad to worse. O ye that hail the Sabbath morn, ye with the Bible
blest, Speed, speed the Rose of Sharon here to blossom
in the West!
WRITTEN AT LONG MEADOW, MASSACHUSETTS.
O, who would not shun the hurried din
Where all is soulless and all is cold,
What on thy boundless path of foam,
Eternal, heaving sea!
Hast thou most dear to me?
The merchant ship whose precious gums
And ambergris and gold, Are heaped, the price of princely sums,
Deep in her teeming hold
The barque that gaily seeks the breeze
On embassy of state; Round which, the willing winds and seas
Obsequious, seem to wait
Or the proud bulwark of the deeps,
Where warring thunders play: That, bristling for the combat, keeps
Stern watch on thy highway?
Not these! not these! for still they bear
Those of the worldly brow; And men disturbed with fruitless care,
Press o'er thy billows now.
Not these, not these, O Deep! for they
Man's purposes perform; His lusts and passions to obey,
They court thy frequent storm.