[Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir a Christmas, New Year's, and Birth Day Present, for MDCCCXXXVI |
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PASSAGES. |
 | [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir |  |
63
PASSAGES.
“Be not conformed to the World.”. .... “The fashion of this world passeth away.”
Trust not the world! It hath a smile
And sunny garniture of bloom,
Which charm the eye a little while,
And bid the soul forget the tomb:
The pomp and pageantry it wears,
To lure the spirit from her God,
Are crossed with doubts, and dimmed by cares,
And scourged by stern Affliction's rod.
And sunny garniture of bloom,
Which charm the eye a little while,
And bid the soul forget the tomb:
The pomp and pageantry it wears,
To lure the spirit from her God,
Are crossed with doubts, and dimmed by cares,
And scourged by stern Affliction's rod.
For who, to mortal ills a prey,
Can from life's darker features turn?
From hopes that beam but to betray—
From darksome thoughts that sting and burn?
Who can forget that Death remains
A hidden spectre by his side—
Whose lifted shaft a Power restrains,
To which no conquest is denied?
Can from life's darker features turn?
64
From darksome thoughts that sting and burn?
Who can forget that Death remains
A hidden spectre by his side—
Whose lifted shaft a Power restrains,
To which no conquest is denied?
Trust not the world! Oh! who can know
The vile deceits that lurk therein:
Unholy dreams that vainly glow—
Visions of passion and of sin?
They rise, like flowers that germ in spring,
And blossom in the balmy air;
To which revolving days must bring
The blight and dimness of despair.
The vile deceits that lurk therein:
Unholy dreams that vainly glow—
Visions of passion and of sin?
They rise, like flowers that germ in spring,
And blossom in the balmy air;
To which revolving days must bring
The blight and dimness of despair.
Thus, when in darkness and in storm,
The season's closing hours appear,
And winds, no longer sweet and warm,
Wail sadly round the dying year—
Where, then, the rose? and where the breath
It used upon the breeze to pour?
Its scentless leaves are pale in death,
Its beauty quenched for evermore.
The season's closing hours appear,
And winds, no longer sweet and warm,
Wail sadly round the dying year—
Where, then, the rose? and where the breath
It used upon the breeze to pour?
Its scentless leaves are pale in death,
Its beauty quenched for evermore.
65
Trust not the world! for thus, too soon,
Its poor, ephemeral raptures die;
And the sick heart rejects the boon
Of hopes not garnered from on high.
They pall at last; they fail; they fade
As summer clouds, whose golden wings,
Disrobed of light, receive the shade,
Which Night from her dominion flings.
Its poor, ephemeral raptures die;
And the sick heart rejects the boon
Of hopes not garnered from on high.
They pall at last; they fail; they fade
As summer clouds, whose golden wings,
Disrobed of light, receive the shade,
Which Night from her dominion flings.
No: let the burdened heart arise!
Let its bruised chords with love be stirred—
With love, whose impulse never dies—
Which flows from God's eternal Word!
The source of joy—of hope, the spring—
The stream whose waters never cease;
The dove, whose ever-tireless wing,
Wafts to the soul its spell of peace!
Let its bruised chords with love be stirred—
With love, whose impulse never dies—
Which flows from God's eternal Word!
The source of joy—of hope, the spring—
The stream whose waters never cease;
The dove, whose ever-tireless wing,
Wafts to the soul its spell of peace!
Philadelphia.
| [Poems by Clark in] The religious souvenir | |