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THE EVENING STAR.
Pale evening star! pale evening star!
Alas! my feelings then, like flowers,
How oft, by Avon's verdant side,
That youthful cheek was fair and bright,
That eye beamed like thine own sweet light,
That voice was music, and that heart-
That face, whose every smile could bless,
If dim declining years I see,
Still will I think of her-of thee;
WRITTEN UNDER BODILY AFFLICTION.
Stricken of Thee, O Lord! I mourn,
And count the lagging hours;
Impatient for the glad return
Of health's reviving powers.
No precious author cheers my soul,
Fain would I feed on mercies past,
On my surrounding blessings feast,
O for that faith that looks afar
Beyond this mingled scene;
That brings the heavenly Canaan near,
Though ages roll between.
Courage, my soul! thy threescore years,
And many a bitter sigh and tear,
In infancy constrained to weep
E'en then I felt how rough, how steep,
Once lifted high on pleasure's wing,
No other bliss I found.
Behold the slowly-opening bud-the infant on the knee, And pause, and think, how like they are-how like their course shall be ;
rosy hue spreads o'er the flower, in many a beauteous streak,
flush of health adorns the infant's smiling cheek.
The bud expands the child, too, owns the ripening hand
And both are gay, and wearing on, towards their sunny
The sky above them both is bright; or if a cloud appears, The silvery shower soon passes by-soon dried are boyhood's tears.
But after storms will scathe the flower-tears pour when manhood's brow
Is shadowed o'er with care, or furrowed deep by sorrow's
Then one its zenith bloom attains-his full endowments
While fleet as dreams, and scarce observed the hoursthe seasons run.
Stern winter comes-old age creeps on-decay will soon
The leaves are dropping one by one- -the vigorous senses
A few brief hours-a few short years have yet to wear
Then what the flower?-pale scentless dust! the man?cold breathless clay.
I stood within a dungeon's wall,
And breathed awhile the captive's air
Yet sweeter than in marble hall,
Arose to heaven the voice of prayer.