Delusion all-forbear, my heart, These unavailing throbs restrain. Destruction has perform'd his part, And Death proclaim'd-thy pangs are vain. Vain though they be, this heart must swell On every virtue, every grace. For ever lost-I vainly dream'd That Heaven my early friend would spare ; And, darker as the prospect seem'd, The more I struggled with despair. I said yet a presaging tear Unbidden rose, and spoke more true"She still shall live-th' unfolding year Shall banish care, and health renew. "She yet shall tread the flowery field, And catch the opening rose's breath: To watchful love disease shall yield, And friendship ward the shaft of death." Alas, before the violet bloom'd Before the snows of winter fled, Too certain fate my hopes consumed, She died deserving to be mourn'd, While parted worth a pang can give. She died by Heaven's best gifts adorn'd, While folly, falsehood, baseness, live. Long in their baseness live secure The noxious weed, and wounding thorn; While, snatch'd by violence ere mature, The lily from her stem is torn. Yet who shall blame the heart that feels When Heaven resumes the good it gave? Yet who shall scorn the tear that falls From Friendship's eye, at Virtue's grave? Friend, parent, sister-tenderest names! Long on the joys of vanish'd years The glance of sadness shall ye cast; Long, long th' emphatic speech of tears Shall mourn thy bloom for ever past. And thou, who from the orient day Return'st, with hope's gay dreams elate, Falsely secure and vainly gay, Unconscious of the stroke of fate,— What waits thee? Not the approving smile Despair!-I see the phantom rove On Cail's green banks, no longer bright, And fiercely grasp the torch of love, And plunge it in sepulchral night. Farewell, sweet maiden; at thy tomb My silent footstep oft shall stray; More dear to me its hallow'd gloom, Than life's broad glare, and fortune's day. And oft, as Fancy paints thy bier, And mournful eyes thy lowly bed, The secret sigh shall rise, the tear That shuns observance shall be shed. Nor shall the thoughts of thee depart, Be cold and motionless as thine. SABBATH EVENING. Edmonston. Is there a time when moments flow It is, of all the times below, A sabbath eve in summer tide. O! then the setting sun smiles fair; And then the peace that Jesus beams, Delightful scene! a world at rest, If heaven be ever felt below, A scene so heavenly sure as this D May cause a heart on earth to know Delightful hour! how soon will night Yet will there dawn at last the day, EARLY RISING AND PRAYER. Bernard Barton. WHEN first thy opening eyes receive Give thy awakening spirit leave To be as blest as they. Our outward organs well may teach Its duty to the soul; And thoughts ascend, that need not speech, Unto their heavenly goal. |