 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
177
DEATH.
Pale King of Terrors! awful in thy dark
Mysterious tyranny o'er human hearts!
Thou queller of the spirit, that dost crush
The proud aspiring and the hope sublime
Of the strong mind! O, thou hast often thrown
The shadows of thy awful power o'er me,
And passed before my swimming eye, that lost
Distinguishing perception in wild fear,
Like an outblazing comet hurled along
Illimitable expansion, mid the gloom
Shedding a lurid grandeur but to show
The ruin of its pathway! By the light
Of thy sepulchral eye, I have beheld
The boiling chaos of unbounded thought,
Where fruitless hopes and wishes toss till lost
In fears that herald madness; and the springs
Of the vast universe have been revealed,
And all the hidden glories of the world—
But what availed the knowledge?—'Twas in vain
My spirit soared on its ethereal way;
However wide the range or high the flight,
Or bright the beauty of my kindling soul,
Still came the thought that could not be dispell'd
One little hour of intellectual pride
And conscious greatness, and the spirit leaves
Its image in the dust. O I have hoped
That it might not be so—and I have prayed,
But doubted still, and doubt brought forth despair
And many woes;—through every shape of strife
And all degrees I've rang'd and mark'd them well,
In highest admiration of the One,
Whose wisdom wrought and fashion'd to a form
The beautiful aspect of this lower world;
And I have bowed in humble faith and prayed
In utter agony to know the fate
Hereafter—but in vain! no voice was heard
Mid the unbreathing awe of yon dark heaven!
Mysterious tyranny o'er human hearts!
Thou queller of the spirit, that dost crush
The proud aspiring and the hope sublime
Of the strong mind! O, thou hast often thrown
The shadows of thy awful power o'er me,
And passed before my swimming eye, that lost
Distinguishing perception in wild fear,
Like an outblazing comet hurled along
Illimitable expansion, mid the gloom
Shedding a lurid grandeur but to show
The ruin of its pathway! By the light
Of thy sepulchral eye, I have beheld
The boiling chaos of unbounded thought,
Where fruitless hopes and wishes toss till lost
In fears that herald madness; and the springs
Of the vast universe have been revealed,
And all the hidden glories of the world—
But what availed the knowledge?—'Twas in vain
My spirit soared on its ethereal way;
However wide the range or high the flight,
Or bright the beauty of my kindling soul,
Still came the thought that could not be dispell'd
One little hour of intellectual pride
And conscious greatness, and the spirit leaves
Its image in the dust. O I have hoped
That it might not be so—and I have prayed,
But doubted still, and doubt brought forth despair
And many woes;—through every shape of strife
And all degrees I've rang'd and mark'd them well,
In highest admiration of the One,
178
The beautiful aspect of this lower world;
And I have bowed in humble faith and prayed
In utter agony to know the fate
Hereafter—but in vain! no voice was heard
Mid the unbreathing awe of yon dark heaven!
Let the storm come! thou art not left
Without a buckler and a shield;
Though weary, worn, of hope bereft,
Despair may tempt thee oft to yield!
Let the storm come! Heaven's arm will bear
Thy heart up through the billowy deep,
When rushing winds, through troubled air,
O'er the dark waves in terror sweep.
Without a buckler and a shield;
Though weary, worn, of hope bereft,
Despair may tempt thee oft to yield!
Let the storm come! Heaven's arm will bear
Thy heart up through the billowy deep,
When rushing winds, through troubled air,
O'er the dark waves in terror sweep.
Rest on the Power, whose sleepless eye
Pierces through every maze of wrong,
And He will hear thy loneliest cry,
And save thee though He linger long.
Let the storm come! there's light afar
To guide the wandering spirit on;
And seraphs watch, from every star,
O'er him who roams earth's waste alone.
Pierces through every maze of wrong,
And He will hear thy loneliest cry,
And save thee though He linger long.
Let the storm come! there's light afar
To guide the wandering spirit on;
And seraphs watch, from every star,
O'er him who roams earth's waste alone.
Wayworn, misguided and beguiled,
Trampled and torn by felon foes,
The pilgrim of a boundless wild,
The sepulchre of countless woes—
Reviled and hunted—shunn'd and scorn'd—
Doubt not that Time and Truth will come
To blast and crush false hearts suborn'd,
And lead thee yet to Glory's home.
Trampled and torn by felon foes,
The pilgrim of a boundless wild,
The sepulchre of countless woes—
Reviled and hunted—shunn'd and scorn'd—
Doubt not that Time and Truth will come
To blast and crush false hearts suborn'd,
And lead thee yet to Glory's home.
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |