How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on you alone!
Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
Can the poor heart always ache?
No, the tortur'd nerve will languish
Or the strings of life must break.
O'er the yielding brow of sadness,
One faint smile of comfort stole;
One soft pang of tender gladness
Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.
While the wounds of wo are healing
While the heart is all resign'd,
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling
'Tis the sabbath of the mind.
Pensive memory then retraces
Scenes of bliss forever fled,
Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with the dead.
And, when night's prophetic slumbers.
Rend the veil to mortal eyes,'
From their tombs, the sainted numbers
Of our lost companions rise.
You have seen a friend, a brother,
Heard a dear dead father speak
Prov'd the fondness of a mother,
Felt her tears upon your cheek!
Dreams of love your grief beguiling,
You have clasp'd a consort's charms,
And received your infant smiling,
From his mother's sacred arms
Trembling, pale and agonizing,
While you mourn'd the vision gone, Bright the morning star arising
Open'd heaven, from whence it shore.
Thither all your wishes bending
Rose in ecstacy sublime,
Thither all your hopes ascending
Triumph'd over death and time.
Thus afflicted, bruis'd and broken,
Have you known such sweet relief?
Yes, my friend! and, by this token,
You have felt, THE JOY OF GRIEF.
There is a calm for those who weep
A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.
The storm that wrecks the winter sky,
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh,
That shuts the rose.
I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.
For misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild;
I perish ;--Oh my mother earth!
Take home thy child!
On thy dear lap these limbs reclin'd
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind,
Resembling me.
Harka strange sound affrights mine ear
My pulse-my brain runs wild-I rave :
-Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear?
I am the Grave!
"The grave, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide :-
O listen! I will speak no more :
Be silent, pride!
"Art thou a wretch of hope forlorn,
A victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn
By fell despair?
"Do foul misdeeds of former times,
Wring with remorse thy guilty breast,
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes
Murder thy rest ?
"Lash'd by the furies of the mind,
From wrath and vengeance would'st thou flee
Ah! think not, hope not, Fool! to find
A friend in me.
By all the terrors of the tomb, Beyond the power of tongue to tell!
By the dread secrets of my
By death and hell!
"I charge thee, live !-repent and pray ; In dust thine infamy deplore;
There yet is mercy go thy way,
And sin no more.
"Art thou a mourner P-hast thou known The joy of innocent delights?
Endearing days forever flown
And tranquil nights?
"O live!and deeply cherish still The sweet remembrance of the past; Rely on heaven's unchanging will
"Art thou a wanderer ?-hast thou seen O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark ?
A shipwreck'd sufferer hast thou bċent.
Misfortune's mark P
"Tho' long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam,
Live!-thou shalt reach a sheltering port, -
A quiet home.
To friendship didst thou trust thy fame,
And was thy friend a deadly foe,
Who stole into thy breast to aim
A surer blow..?.
"Live!-and repine not o'er his loss,
A loss unworthy to be told:
Thou hast mistaken sordid dress.
For friendship's gold.
"Go seek that treasure, seldom found,
Of power the fiercest griefs to calm,
And sooth the bosom's deepest wound
With heavenly balm..
In woman hast thou placed thy bliss,
And did the fair one faithless prove ?
Hath she betray'd thee with a kiss,
And sold thy love? :
"Live!twas a false bewildering fire,
Too often Love's insidious dart
Thrills the fond soul with sweet desire,
But kills the heart.
"A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,
A brighter maiden's virtuous charms!
Blest shalt thou be, supremely blest,
In beauty's arms.
"Whate'er thy lot-whoe'er thou bé,
Confess thy folly, kiss the rod,
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of GOD...
A bruised reed He will not break,
Afflictions all His children feel;
He wounds them for His mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal !.
"Humbled beneath His mighty hand,
Prostrate His providence adore:
"Tis done-Arise! He bids thee stand,
To fall no more.
Now, traveller in the vale of tears;
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight,
"There IS a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep-
Low in the ground;
"The soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
A star of day!
"The sun is but a spark of fire,.
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its sire,
SHALL NEVER DIE."
These, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the Summer months,.
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