Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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HYMNS OF THE CHURCH-YARD—I. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
HYMNS OF THE CHURCH-YARD—I.
Ah, me! this is a sad and silent city;
Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey
Its grassy streets, with melancholy pity!
Where are its children? where their gleesome play?
Alas! their cradled rest is cold and deep,
And slimy worms watch o'er them as they sleep!
Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey
Its grassy streets, with melancholy pity!
Where are its children? where their gleesome play?
Alas! their cradled rest is cold and deep,
And slimy worms watch o'er them as they sleep!
186
This is pale beauty's bourn: but where the beautiful
Whom I have seen come forth at evening hours,
Leading their aged friends, with feelings dutiful,
Amid the wreaths of spring, to gather flowers?
Alas! no flowers are here, but flowers of death;
And those who once were sweetest sleep beneath.
Whom I have seen come forth at evening hours,
Leading their aged friends, with feelings dutiful,
Amid the wreaths of spring, to gather flowers?
Alas! no flowers are here, but flowers of death;
And those who once were sweetest sleep beneath.
This is a populous place: but where the bustling—
The crowded buyers of the noisy mart—
The lookers-on—the showy garments rustling—
The money-changers—and the men of art?
Business, alas! hath stopp'd in mid career,
And none are anxious to resume it here.
The crowded buyers of the noisy mart—
The lookers-on—the showy garments rustling—
The money-changers—and the men of art?
Business, alas! hath stopp'd in mid career,
And none are anxious to resume it here.
This is the home of grandeur: where are they—
The rich the great, the glorious, and the wise?
Where are the trappings of the proud, the gay—
The gaudy guise of human butterflies?
Alas! all lowly lies each lofty brow,
And the green sod dizens their beauty now.
The rich the great, the glorious, and the wise?
Where are the trappings of the proud, the gay—
The gaudy guise of human butterflies?
Alas! all lowly lies each lofty brow,
And the green sod dizens their beauty now.
This is a place of refuge and repose:
Where are the poor—the old—the weary wight—
The scorn'd—the humble—and the man of woes—
Who wept for morn, and sigh'd again for night?
Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep,
Beside their scorners, and forget they weep.
Where are the poor—the old—the weary wight—
The scorn'd—the humble—and the man of woes—
Who wept for morn, and sigh'd again for night?
Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep,
Beside their scorners, and forget they weep.
This is a place of gloom: where are the gloomy?
The gloomy are not citizens of death.
Approach and look: where the long grass is plummy,
See them above! they are not found beneath—
For these low denizens, with artful wiles,
Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic smiles.
The gloomy are not citizens of death.
Approach and look: where the long grass is plummy,
See them above! they are not found beneath—
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Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic smiles.
This is a place of sorrow: friends have met,
And mingled tears o'er those who answer'd not:
And where are they whose eyelids then were wet?
Alas! their griefs, their tears are all forgot;
They, too, are landed in this silent city,
Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor pity.
And mingled tears o'er those who answer'd not:
And where are they whose eyelids then were wet?
Alas! their griefs, their tears are all forgot;
They, too, are landed in this silent city,
Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor pity.
This is a place of fear: the firmest eye
Hath quail'd to see its shadowy dreariness;
But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects high,
And earthly cares, and nature's weariness,
Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear,
And long to end his painful journey here.
Hath quail'd to see its shadowy dreariness;
But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects high,
And earthly cares, and nature's weariness,
Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear,
And long to end his painful journey here.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |