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The poetical works of John Nicholson

... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird
 

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DIRGE.
 
 
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DIRGE.

Blest may my children be,
When death shall carry me
Into eternity,
Ne'er to return;
When the fast-falling tear
Drops on their father's bier,
May some true friend be near,
While they all mourn.

296

I now have had my prime,
Till there is nought in time
But Care's high hill to climb,
Weary and faint;
Pleasure is fled away,
Grief is resolv'd to stay
With me by night and day,
Terrors to paint.
What is bright glory's beam?
Why, 'tis an empty dream,
Or as the meteor's gleam
Crossing the sky.
Can riches pleasure bring?
No—cares oppress a king:
All earthly joys but sting
Deep as they fly.
Nothing but virtue can
Give comfort unto man,
Whose life is scarce a span,
Wasting away:
Honour is but a shade,
Like beams on rain display'd,
Whose colours quickly fade,
Ere ends the day.

297

Thus shall our sorrows end:
May we have one great Friend,
Through whom we can ascend
Far beyond pain;
There may my children come,
May we all find a home,
Far, far beyond the tomb,
In bliss to reign!