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The Past, Present, and Future

In Prose and Poetry.
Clark, Benjamin Cutler

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POETRY.
 I. 
I. ETHIOPIA.
 II. 
II. AN ACROSTIC.
 III. 
III. SING UNTO GOD.
 IV. 
IV. IN MEMORIAM, On the late Right Reverend Richard Allen, first Bishop of the A. M. E. Church.
 V. 
V. HYMN.
 VI. 
VI. HAMAN.
 VII. 
VII. LABOR.
 VIII. 
VIII. WINDS.
 IX. 
IX. THE EMIGRANT.
 X. 
X. FRIENDSHIP.
 XI. 
XI. ON SEEING A SNOW-BIRD.
 XII. 
XII. AN ACROSTIC.
 XIII. 
XIII. TO SPRING.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE SLAVE-CATCHER.
 XV. 
XV. LINES Inscribed to Benjamin Lundy, Esq.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S APOLOGY.
 XVII. 
XVII. WHAT IS TRUTH?
 XVIII. 
XVIII. PRAYER.
 XIX. 
XIX. ON THE FUGITIVE LAW.
 XX. 
XX. ACROSTIC.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE SEMINOLÉ.
 XXII. 
XXII. TO MY MOTHER—LETTY WALLACE.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. THE TWO FUGITIVES.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. PARAPHRASE, Luke XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV. ON JEALOUSY.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. I'VE SEEN.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. NO ENEMIES.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. WHAT IS A SLAVE?
 XXIX. 
XXIX. ON PREJUDICE.
 XXX. 
XXX. ON BUBBLES.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. BRING FLOWERS.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. THE CAPTIVE.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. LINES On hearing of the Burning of the Steamer “Lexington.”
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. LIFE'S STRUGGLE.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. THE TREE.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. ON DEATH.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. THE SLAVE'S LAMENT.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. ACROSTIC.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. HYMN, On the Celebration of the Freedom of the West Indies.
 XL. 
XL. AUTUMN.
 XLI. 
XLI. ODE TO DEITY.
 XLII. 
XLII. GOD SPEED.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. ODE.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. THE REAPER.
 XLV. 
XLV. ODE.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. FORGET THEE.
 XLVII. 
XLVII. TO WRITE.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. LINES On the Death of a Child, J. W., aged 11 years.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. WHO HATH COURAGE?
 L. 
L. YEARS.
 LI. 
LI. CHEER UP.
 LII. 
LII. THE PAUPER'S GRAVE.
 LIII. 
LIII. THE CRISIS.
 LIV. 
LIV. AN ACROSTIC.
 LV. 
LV. REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
 LVI. 
LVI. PILGRIM.
 LVII. 
LVII. NO ENERGY.
 LVIII. 
LVIII. ACROSTIC, A. C. C.
 LIX. 
LIX. AN EPITAPH ON MY DOG TURK.
 LX. 
LX. DO THEY MISS ME?
 LXI. 
LXI. GOSSIP!
 LXII. 
LXII. LOVE.
 LXIII. 
LXIII. ON THE TIMES.
 LXIV. 
LXIV. MEET IN HEAVEN.
 LXV. 
LXV. BE JOYFUL!

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160

LXII. LOVE.

Oh! gentle sir, calm and secure,
Lone on your pillow wake,
A lady, knocking at your door,
Has brought her heart to break.
That heart is offer'd to you now;
Will you accept the prize,
Or disregard love's open vow,
And hide it from your eyes?
Ah, gentle sir! love's not a dream
Of fancied vision bright;
But rather like a limpid stream
That's running day and night.
'Tis like a precious gem that lay
Within the earth conceal'd,
Until the mighty orb of day
Its beauties hath reveal'd.
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