 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
133
OH! THEY WHOSE LIFE.
Oh! they whose life doth early close,
'Tis little, little that they lose!
In losing this dark world beneath,
'Tis little that they lose by Death!
'Tis little, little that they lose!
In losing this dark world beneath,
'Tis little that they lose by Death!
Envyings, repinings, groans, and sighs,
Doubts, vanities, infirmities;
And blame, and wrong, and toils, and tears,
And failing hopes and waning years!
Doubts, vanities, infirmities;
And blame, and wrong, and toils, and tears,
And failing hopes and waning years!
And heavy griefs and haunting cares,
And faulterings, faintings, and despairs;
Pangs, miseries, sufferings, and regrets—
The dream that mocks—the light that sets.
And faulterings, faintings, and despairs;
Pangs, miseries, sufferings, and regrets—
The dream that mocks—the light that sets.
134
The whirlwind and the crushing shock,
The contact with the treacherous rock;
The livelong piecemeal mouldering there,
The drop by drop—that worst shall wear.
The contact with the treacherous rock;
The livelong piecemeal mouldering there,
The drop by drop—that worst shall wear.
These—these things 'tis that they must lose,
Whose measured Life doth early close,
To whom its dark years are denied,
And things yet worse than those beside.
Whose measured Life doth early close,
To whom its dark years are denied,
And things yet worse than those beside.
The snares of sin—the clouds—the chains—
The stings of conscience, and the stains;
The deep temptations evermore,
The fearful trials—sharp and sore.
The stings of conscience, and the stains;
The deep temptations evermore,
The fearful trials—sharp and sore.
Oh! little—little 'tis they lose,
Save pains and fears, and sins and woes,
Who early are withdrawn by Death
From this tempestuous World beneath.
Save pains and fears, and sins and woes,
Who early are withdrawn by Death
From this tempestuous World beneath.
135
And yet around the grave we creep
And weep—and wipe our eyes—and weep
And sorrow o'er the bless'd, the freed—
We that are worms and dust indeed!
And weep—and wipe our eyes—and weep
And sorrow o'er the bless'd, the freed—
We that are worms and dust indeed!
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |