 | The Modern Dunciad |  |
316
HOPE.
What though the shades of death descend
On her my soul holds dear;
And those that o'er her pillow bend,
May soon surround her bier—
On her my soul holds dear;
And those that o'er her pillow bend,
May soon surround her bier—
My fainting heart shall not despair,
But look beyond the grave:
Hath pitying heav'n less will to spare?
Hath God less pow'r to save?
But look beyond the grave:
Hath pitying heav'n less will to spare?
Hath God less pow'r to save?
Yet happier they, who call'd to rest,
Ere sorrow fades their bloom,
Awhile a blessing are—and blest—
Then sink into the tomb—
Ere sorrow fades their bloom,
Awhile a blessing are—and blest—
Then sink into the tomb—
For them the Spring's gay buds appear,
And Summer paints the flow'r;
They fall, ere Autumn's leaf is sear,
Or wintry tempests low'r.
And Summer paints the flow'r;
They fall, ere Autumn's leaf is sear,
Or wintry tempests low'r.
And tho' they part with fond regret,
While still the leaves are green;
How mournful they, imprison'd yet,
Who long to quit the scene.
While still the leaves are green;
How mournful they, imprison'd yet,
Who long to quit the scene.
317
The broken heart may heave a sigh,
E'en while it bows to heav'n;
And if a tear bedew my eye,
That tear shall be forgiven.
E'en while it bows to heav'n;
And if a tear bedew my eye,
That tear shall be forgiven.
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