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Until the anxious eye might view,
Alone the lily's sickly hue, .
Yes! they have felt as we for you.
But oh! how few the joys have known,
To see again the roses blown:
To find their very hopes out-done,
And all their fears relieved or gone.
Such joy is ours; for gracious heaven
Returning health to thee has given ;
And we, thy friends, will gladly give
The praise to Him who bade thee live.
How fruitless all thy parents' care!
How vain to breathe the ocean air!
If He who rules the earth and seas,
Nor blessed the care, nor winged the breeze. 'Tis the Physician, heavenly, true,
Whose balms have done so much for you.
Sweet friend! oh! may thy lengthened days
Be all devoted to His praise:
May every hour in mercy given
But fit thee more for Him and heaven!
Friendship! I thought thee once a pleasing thing;
When childhood flattered me with easy dreams.
Too rash I trusted to thy waxen wing,
Against affliction's melting beams.
I knew not, till I felt, how light! how vain!
Were all thy boasted mighty powers:
Fair promiser in happy hours,
But flying from our pain.
When youth allured me, from my mother's knee,
To sports, companions, and unthinking days;
I thought the sun and seasons made for me,
Smoothly we enter life's delusive maze,
By inexperience led, and hope deceived.
I trusted ere my heart inquired,
So soon is what we wish admired!
And what we love believed!
But heavenly care, that did my good intend, Stripped me of these to give me better joys; Removing worldly prospects-substance-friendAnd gave itself in change for earthly toys.
Ah! my dear Lord, how little did I know ?
When their mourned loss first fixed my smart,
Thou didst but rend them from my heart,
That thou might more bestow.
Can I forget our childish days?
When life and love were young
When nature's voice the heart obeys,
Ere flattery soiled the tongue :
Ah! no-for then I deemed thee true,
And life and love to me were new.
Can I forget those childish days?
When every thought of mine,
But sought for pleasure in thy praise,
And in thy look divine:
Ah! no-for these were happy hours,
And sorrow had not sought our bowers.
Can I forget the happy time?
When first I breathed to thee The tale of love, and when the chime Of thy answer came like melody, Of distant music on my ear, So soft, so sweet, but ah, how clear.
Ah! no, for memory has the will
To trace o'er every scene;
To tell us what we were, and still
To say what might have been-
A record of our fate it is
A mockery of our wretchedness,
Then since these days no more return,
Since we no more must meet;
Since memory still broods o'er the urn
Of love and friendship sweet;
Farewell, and may thine only tear
Be shed upon my lowly bier.
If sorrow's holiest tears could bring
Thy spirit from its native skies,
Then might we hope that pity's wing
Would waft the bark from paradise!
But all our sorrow is unknown,
In that blessed place where thou art gone.
ON THE DEATH OF A CLERGYMAN.