Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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ADDRESS TO TIME—AUGUST 1836. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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ADDRESS TO TIME—AUGUST 1836.
Gray monarch of decay!
Stern conqueror of kings!
Beneath whose all unbounded sway,
The mightiest nations melt away,
And are forgotten things!
Oh! spare but one poor gift to me,
And I resign the rest to thee!
Stern conqueror of kings!
Beneath whose all unbounded sway,
The mightiest nations melt away,
And are forgotten things!
Oh! spare but one poor gift to me,
And I resign the rest to thee!
If aught of manly grace,
Or youthful bloom be mine,
Take from thy subject's form and face,
Each faintly marked and fading trace,
Stern spoiler, they are thine;
But dip not thy relentless dart
In the deep fountain of my heart!
Or youthful bloom be mine,
Take from thy subject's form and face,
Each faintly marked and fading trace,
Stern spoiler, they are thine;
But dip not thy relentless dart
In the deep fountain of my heart!
Take health, as thou before
Has taken, from my frame;
Take all the little treasured store,
Which memory holds, of hard-earn'd lore,
For these are thine to claim;
But leave me still the power to scan,
Kindly the woes of suffering man!
Has taken, from my frame;
Take all the little treasured store,
Which memory holds, of hard-earn'd lore,
For these are thine to claim;
But leave me still the power to scan,
Kindly the woes of suffering man!
If tyranny must sting
My soul to sternness here,
And from my heart, by torture, wring
Those gentle sympathies, which spring
Where man to man is dear;
Then bait me with the sons of pride—
By them be all my firmness tried!
My soul to sternness here,
And from my heart, by torture, wring
Those gentle sympathies, which spring
Where man to man is dear;
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By them be all my firmness tried!
But ne'er by guile or woe,
That tender organ tear,
Which o'er the weak—the fall'n—the low—
Vibrates with sympathetic glow—
Those slender springlets spare;
And if denied the means to heal,
Still let me have the power to feel!
That tender organ tear,
Which o'er the weak—the fall'n—the low—
Vibrates with sympathetic glow—
Those slender springlets spare;
And if denied the means to heal,
Still let me have the power to feel!
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |