A memorial volume of sacred poetry by the late Sir John Bowring. To which is prefixed, a memoir of the author, by Lady Bowring |
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Death a Blessing.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
Death a Blessing.
O could our art, or our desire,
Make mortal man immortal here,
And kindle an eternal fire
From life's vain sparks of hope and fear;
How soon the restless soul would tire,
And envy death its sepulchre!
Make mortal man immortal here,
And kindle an eternal fire
From life's vain sparks of hope and fear;
How soon the restless soul would tire,
And envy death its sepulchre!
No! life is long enough for all
That's worth a care, that's worth a thought;
Soon pleasure's best attractions pall—
Soon weariness its work hath wrought;
The ripened fruits unheeded fall,
And time's delusions leave us nought.
That's worth a care, that's worth a thought;
Soon pleasure's best attractions pall—
Soon weariness its work hath wrought;
The ripened fruits unheeded fall,
And time's delusions leave us nought.
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And then 'twere very sweet indeed
To seek a grave—for who could bear
To feel his heart's core bleed, and bleed
Unstaunched by hope—uncured by care—
And find no resting-place in need,
To shield him from his own despair?
To seek a grave—for who could bear
To feel his heart's core bleed, and bleed
Unstaunched by hope—uncured by care—
And find no resting-place in need,
To shield him from his own despair?
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |