Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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POETICAL PREACHER.—No. III. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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POETICAL PREACHER.—No. III.
“I loathe it—I would not live alway.—Job vii. 16.”
In the spring-time of life, when the sunshine of joy
And the purple of health are combined on the cheek;
When the sweet bud of childhood unfolds in the boy,
When the passions are warm, and the judgment is weak,
Then all we behold is invested with bliss—
Delighted we gaze on the ocean and sky;
Nor wish for a paradise purer than this—
It is then that we tremble to think we must die.
To friendship and love we have plighted our faith,
And our hearts in the lap of enjoyment are laid,
Ere the sorrows of life, or the darkness of death,
Our friends have destroyed, or our hopes have betray'd;
But when toss'd by the storm, in the offing of years,
The scenes which were lovely seem lovely no more:
It is then that the voyager, 'mid sorrows and fears,
Feels pleased that the ocean of life hath a shore.
Life's bloom, like the May-thorn's foliage, deceives—
In summer the pride of the forest and plain;
But autumn divests it of fragrance and leaves,
And nought but the fruit and the prickles remain.
The fruit of existence is virtue and truth,
And happy is he in whose bosom they grow;
For they shall survive the gay foliage of youth,
And soothe the sad prickles of age and of woe:
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Or dream of the gay-golden prospects to come,
The pleasures of life will decline to the last,
And its cares will increase as we march to the tomb.
Even those who have reached to the margin of time,
And worn all the blessings life gave them to wear,
Whether soaring in goodness, or sinking in crime,
Would shrink from eternal mortality here.
Yet, fear not the pressure of age or of pain,
Nor, for sorrows behind thee, disconsolate mourn:
Though life may be dark, yet it is not in vain,
And eternity's dawn shall its ending adorn.
Though the bright sun of hope on the valley of tears
May have set, in its brightness no more to arise,
We are bless'd, if the Day-Star of Mercy appears
To illumine our path through its gloom to the skies.
And in this let our hearts still rejoice and be glad,
Though surrounded with suff'rings o'er which we must grieve,
That we shall not live always, nor always be sad;
For the scene is a scene which we shortly must leave.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |