 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
48
CONTEMPLATIVE STANZAS.
Of late I marked the raging storm
Fair Nature's lovely face deform,
With wild and angry pinions sweep
The surface of the mighty deep,
And drive her tides, all calm before,
In lofty billows to the shore.
Fair Nature's lovely face deform,
With wild and angry pinions sweep
The surface of the mighty deep,
And drive her tides, all calm before,
In lofty billows to the shore.
I marked the shades of night invest
The ruffled mildness of the west,
And when her curtains closed around
The tempest's wrath, and billow's sound,
Pleasure had fled, and pensiveness
Awoke the sigh of deep distress.
The ruffled mildness of the west,
And when her curtains closed around
The tempest's wrath, and billow's sound,
Pleasure had fled, and pensiveness
Awoke the sigh of deep distress.
49
But soon upon the darkened tide,
The storm in gentle murmurs died;
With steps of mild serenity,
The moon beamed o'er the clear blue sky,
And from the scattered clouds afar,
All bright arose the twilight star.
The storm in gentle murmurs died;
With steps of mild serenity,
The moon beamed o'er the clear blue sky,
And from the scattered clouds afar,
All bright arose the twilight star.
Our little cup of bliss below,
Is bittered oft by care and woe;
The warring passions, wild and strong,
Urge man's contending bark along,
Till, tost beyond the power to save,
It founders on the stormy wave.
Is bittered oft by care and woe;
The warring passions, wild and strong,
Urge man's contending bark along,
Till, tost beyond the power to save,
It founders on the stormy wave.
But should the storms of trouble rise
To steep in grief my aching eyes,
Should tribulation and unrest,
With anguish load my fevered breast,
O, may not thus the wave of woes,
O'er my conflicting spirit close!
To steep in grief my aching eyes,
Should tribulation and unrest,
With anguish load my fevered breast,
O, may not thus the wave of woes,
O'er my conflicting spirit close!
50
But may my patience firm abide
The burst of Sorrow's angry tide,
Till grief has bowed the aspiring mind,
And every passion is refin'd;
Then, at the close of sorrow's day,
May Mercy chase the storm away;
The burst of Sorrow's angry tide,
Till grief has bowed the aspiring mind,
And every passion is refin'd;
Then, at the close of sorrow's day,
May Mercy chase the storm away;
And bright, amid serener skies,
The morning-star of Jesse rise;
Direct my view to scenes above,
In patient hope, and heavenly love;
From death the erring spirit save,
And guide to bliss beyond the grave.
The morning-star of Jesse rise;
Direct my view to scenes above,
In patient hope, and heavenly love;
From death the erring spirit save,
And guide to bliss beyond the grave.
| Poems by Three Friends | |