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“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”
S. Matth. chap. 5, ver. 4.
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To ---
Ere
upon thy pillow thou
Shalt to night compose thy brow;
And to guardian saints commend
Parent, brother, sister, friend;
Let, once more, a lyre be heard
That of old thy bosom stirr'd.
Shalt to night compose thy brow;
And to guardian saints commend
Parent, brother, sister, friend;
Let, once more, a lyre be heard
That of old thy bosom stirr'd.
Greet the minstrel while thou may'st,
For he passes on in haste:
Soon a higher, happier sphere
Will his solemn harpings hear.
For he passes on in haste:
Soon a higher, happier sphere
Will his solemn harpings hear.
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[Man, alas! was only born]
Man, alas! was only born
To tread a path of brier and thorn!
To the flattering dreams of youth
Manhood tells this blighting truth;
And to manhood wither'd age
Opens a still darker page
Of Life's weary pilgrimage!”
Thus moody Melancholy cry'd;
And thus a gentle voice replied;
Making the embowering wood
A melodious solitude.
To tread a path of brier and thorn!
To the flattering dreams of youth
Manhood tells this blighting truth;
And to manhood wither'd age
Opens a still darker page
Of Life's weary pilgrimage!”
Thus moody Melancholy cry'd;
And thus a gentle voice replied;
Making the embowering wood
A melodious solitude.
“Helpless man is not his own;
From his first to his last sigh
He, unseen, but not unknown,
Hath a guardian ever nigh—
One who doth benignly shed
Boundless blessings on his head;
Blessings that should all his days
Turn his humble prayers to praise!
From his first to his last sigh
He, unseen, but not unknown,
Hath a guardian ever nigh—
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Boundless blessings on his head;
Blessings that should all his days
Turn his humble prayers to praise!
Grandeur; in the skies that glow—
Beauty; in the flowers that blow—
Brightness; in the morning beams—
Music; in the woods and streams—
Plenty; in the golden ear—
And, throughout the varied year,
Hearing, motion, sense, and sight;
Air, to breathe; and day and night
For labour, pastime, sweet repose;
And friendship, balm for many woes!
Are his—and (richer than the ore
That sparkles on Golconda's shore,
More precious than the priceless gem
That decks earth's proudest diadem!)
Eternal Truth, to soar away
To regions of celestial day;
And muse on that mysterious sea
(Dark, fathomless futurity!)
Whose secrets shall in silence sleep
Till that dread audit! when the deep,
Upheaving from its coral caves
The shipman's bones; and when the graves,
Their dust resigning, mortals shew
Worlds of undying weal and woe!
As those on Alpine heights who dwell
(Regardless of their solemn spell)
Know not their altitude, nor see
Their grandeur, beauty, majesty;
Man, to whom the heavens unroll
Their bright, prophetic, wondrous scroll;
And with a paradise in view
That seers foretold, but never knew;
Still blindly creeps, when he might climb
Yon Cross-crown'd mountain's brow sublime!
Say not in this transient scene
Rays of light and spots of green
Do not sometimes intervene—
When evening drops her dusky veil,
Sweetest sings the nightingale;
And when darkest is the night,
The stars shine more intensely bright;
And when sorrow deepens round,
Inward light doth most abound.
Listen!”—and the voice once more
Did its solemn music pour.
Beauty; in the flowers that blow—
Brightness; in the morning beams—
Music; in the woods and streams—
Plenty; in the golden ear—
And, throughout the varied year,
Hearing, motion, sense, and sight;
Air, to breathe; and day and night
For labour, pastime, sweet repose;
And friendship, balm for many woes!
Are his—and (richer than the ore
That sparkles on Golconda's shore,
More precious than the priceless gem
That decks earth's proudest diadem!)
Eternal Truth, to soar away
To regions of celestial day;
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(Dark, fathomless futurity!)
Whose secrets shall in silence sleep
Till that dread audit! when the deep,
Upheaving from its coral caves
The shipman's bones; and when the graves,
Their dust resigning, mortals shew
Worlds of undying weal and woe!
As those on Alpine heights who dwell
(Regardless of their solemn spell)
Know not their altitude, nor see
Their grandeur, beauty, majesty;
Man, to whom the heavens unroll
Their bright, prophetic, wondrous scroll;
And with a paradise in view
That seers foretold, but never knew;
Still blindly creeps, when he might climb
Yon Cross-crown'd mountain's brow sublime!
Say not in this transient scene
Rays of light and spots of green
Do not sometimes intervene—
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Sweetest sings the nightingale;
And when darkest is the night,
The stars shine more intensely bright;
And when sorrow deepens round,
Inward light doth most abound.
Listen!”—and the voice once more
Did its solemn music pour.
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