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Original, serious, and religious poetry

by the Rev. Richard Cobbold
Cobbold, Richard (1797-1877)

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CHARITY.
 I. 
REFLECTION I.
 II. 
REFLECTION II.
 III. 
REFLECTION III.
 IV. 
REFLECTION IV.
 V. 
REFLECTION V.
 VI. 
REFLECTION VI.
  
LINES WRITTEN IMPROMTU IN FOX'S BOOK OF THE MARTYRS.
 VII. 
REFLECTION VII.
  
LINES WRITTEN TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD'S FAMILY, ON THE EVE OF THEIR DEPARTURE FROM IPSWICH.
 VIII. 
REFLECTION VIII.
 IX. 
REFLECTION IX.
 X. 
REFLECTION X.
 XI. 
REFLECTION XI.
  
TRUTH.
 XII. 
REFLECTION XII.
  
FOR RAIN.
  
RETURN FOR RAIN.
 XIII. 
REFLECTION XIII.
 XIV. 
REFLECTION XIV.
  
TO LOVERS.
 XV. 
REFLECTION XV.
 XVI. 
REFLECTION XVI.
  
VIRTUE.
 XVII. 
REFLECTION XVII.
  
RETURNING HEALTH; LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. B---T.
  
TO THE GOOD.
  
TO THE UNFORGIVING.
  
CHRISTMAS DAY, 1826.
 XVIII. 
REFLECTION XVIII.
  
REFLECTIONS UPON GOING TO REST.
 XIX. 
REFLECTION XIX.
  
FAITH.
  
HELMINGHAM.
  
[Who feels as Christian must acknowledge this]
  
TO THE PENITENT.
  
TO THE IMPENITENT.
  
TO THE WISE MAN.
  
TO THE INFIDEL.
  
THE RIDE.
  
ORWELL,
  
TO THE DISAPPOINTED.
  
TO THE MARRIED.
  
LOVE.
  
LINES WRITTEN IN MY BIBLE.
  
A MEMORABLE EVENING.
  
TO J. C. THE UNKNOWN POET.
  
THE EYE OF AGONY.
  
A MOTHER.
  
MAN.
  
TO MY GOD.
  
TO MY LOVE.
  
TO THE PATIENT CHRISTIAN.
  
TO A PERSON WISHING TO ENTER INTO HOLY ORDERS.
  
TO MY HEART.
  
THE WRETCHED MAN.
 XX. 
REFLECTION XX.
 XXI. 
REFLECTION XXI.
  
REVELATIONS.
  
TO MRS. COLE.
 XXII. 
REFLECTION XXII.
  
TO MY FATHER.
 XXIII. 
REFLECTION XXIII.
  
TO THE INCONSTANT.
 XXIV. 
REFLECTION XXIV.
  
GOOD NIGHT.
  
THE SABBATH.
  
A TRUE NARRATION.
 XXV. 
REFLECTION XXV.
  
SENSATIONS UPON SEEING THE SHUTTERS OF A HOUSE HALF CLOSED.
  
DISTRACTED POETRY.
  
BITTERNESS.
  
THE LAST HOUR OF LOVE.
  
TO THE WICKED.
 XXVI. 
REFLECTION XXVI.
  
ON SEEING MY FATHER AT THE AGE OF EIGHTY-ONE, AN ATTENDANT AT HIS SONS CHURCH.
  
THOUGHTS UPON VIRTUE.
  
HEAVEN.
  
THE CHRISTIAN'S FAREWELL.
  
TO THE PURITAN.
  
DECEMBER 30TH, 1826, CLAYDON CHURCHYARD.
  
TO THE LIBERTINE.
  
ON THE PROSPECT OF LEAVING MY NATIVE TOWN.

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161

REFLECTION XXII.

How sweet are the flow'rs of early spring,
How sweet is an autumn rose,
But sweeter to me than every thing,
The God on whose love I repose.
The tone of the robin in sunny day,
The tone of the lark in the morn,
They teach my spirit to rise and pray,
Like a Christian now new born.
The sun o'er the heavens is shining clear,
The moon looks pale in the sky,
The thought of the soul is truly dear,
When nature wakes our piety.
162

The snowdrop springs again from the earth,
The leaves put on their green;
And man shall rise to the second birth,
And be what he has not been.
O bless the good great God above!
O keep their spirits here!
For thou art the Lord, the Lord of love,
The Lord of life be dear.
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