 | Metrical essays |  |
169
MORNING.
It is the Morn—but low and dim her ray—Broad envious shades her beauteous form conceal,
The silent birds her banished brightness feel,
Droop the green leaves, the young buds pass away:
Thus man, when his enjoyments slow decay,
When disappointments like dark shadows steal,
When youth and hope no more their charms reveal,
Withers like leaf and flower, to grief a prey.
Morn's clouds are past! out bursts the glorious day!—
A thousand merry ringing voices peal—
Spring thousand summer blossoms, bright and gay,
Beauty on earth seems to have set her seal!
O! thus may Virtue unto man display
God's promised bliss, and his deep sorrows heal!
| Metrical essays | |