Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
 |
All Must Die.
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
All Must Die.
“MORIENDUM EST OMNIBUS.”
Seest thou the carmine leave the rose,
And tulip wither'd lie;
This solemn message they disclose,
That “all on earth must die.”
Though summer decks the fields with green,
Fair to the raptured eye,
Yet winter writes on all the scene,
“All earthly things must die.”
And tulip wither'd lie;
This solemn message they disclose,
That “all on earth must die.”
Though summer decks the fields with green,
Fair to the raptured eye,
Yet winter writes on all the scene,
“All earthly things must die.”
The woodland's pride, the branching oak,
Long spreads his foliage round,
And shelter oft the cow'ring flock
Beneath his shade have found;
But storms at length impair his strength,
Apace his beauties fly;
Till, mould'ring low, to time he bow,
Exclaiming, “all must die.”
Long spreads his foliage round,
And shelter oft the cow'ring flock
Beneath his shade have found;
But storms at length impair his strength,
Apace his beauties fly;
Till, mould'ring low, to time he bow,
Exclaiming, “all must die.”
Hear'st thou the minstrels of the bow'rs
Sing in the summer beams,
'Mid honeysuckle's balmy flow'rs
That fringe the purling streams!
Stern winter comes; their lay no more
At morn or eve they ply;
Which sends this truth creation o'er,
“All joys on earth must die.”
Sing in the summer beams,
'Mid honeysuckle's balmy flow'rs
That fringe the purling streams!
24
At morn or eve they ply;
Which sends this truth creation o'er,
“All joys on earth must die.”
Behold fair beauty's flushing cheek,
And eye like diamond clear,
And polish'd lily-brow so meek,
With charms the soul to cheer!
Age soon shall ridge that brow so white,
And dim that sparkling eye,
And that gay cheek's vermillion blight,
Proclaiming—“all must die.”
And eye like diamond clear,
And polish'd lily-brow so meek,
With charms the soul to cheer!
Age soon shall ridge that brow so white,
And dim that sparkling eye,
And that gay cheek's vermillion blight,
Proclaiming—“all must die.”
Though sadly solemn is the truth,
How few the tidings mind?
The vanities of flaunting youth
Their eyes enchanted blind:
E'en age, too oft in folly bound,
Lets time unheeded fly,
Unmindful of the warning sound—
“O man, thou soon must die!”
How few the tidings mind?
The vanities of flaunting youth
Their eyes enchanted blind:
E'en age, too oft in folly bound,
Lets time unheeded fly,
Unmindful of the warning sound—
“O man, thou soon must die!”
How sweet the retrospective glance
On Eden's blissful scene,
When endless rapture led the dance,
Unknown to sullen spleen!
But Eden's virgin joys are o'er,
Her blooms all blighted lie;
And death's black banner, stain'd with gore,
Denounces—“all must die.”
On Eden's blissful scene,
When endless rapture led the dance,
Unknown to sullen spleen!
But Eden's virgin joys are o'er,
Her blooms all blighted lie;
And death's black banner, stain'd with gore,
Denounces—“all must die.”
But mark yon beauteous angel bright,
That radiates through the gloom,
And waves her dazzling torch of light
Around the frowning tomb!
'Tis Faith! that cheers the humble soul,
That soothes the mourner's sigh,
And points to worlds, beyond control
Of death, where joys ne'er die.
That radiates through the gloom,
And waves her dazzling torch of light
Around the frowning tomb!
'Tis Faith! that cheers the humble soul,
That soothes the mourner's sigh,
And points to worlds, beyond control
Of death, where joys ne'er die.
Thus shall the just, like flowers in spring,
Revive when winter's past;
And soar, hosannas sweet to sing
In endless life at last.
Death's direful tempest raves no more,
Loud swelling to the sky,
For on Immanuel's blissful shore
No dweller e'er shall die.
Revive when winter's past;
And soar, hosannas sweet to sing
In endless life at last.
25
Loud swelling to the sky,
For on Immanuel's blissful shore
No dweller e'er shall die.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |