 | Sacra Poesis |  |
A FEARFUL THOUGHT.
Oh, 'tis not in the sob, nor the deep bitter sigh,
Nor the pale wet cheek, nor the tearful eye,
When the darkness of sorrow the lone heart has shrouded,
When dejection the thoughts of the bosom has clouded:
Nor the pale wet cheek, nor the tearful eye,
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When dejection the thoughts of the bosom has clouded:
It is not when the thunders awfully crash,
And the wild waves roar, and lightnings flash,
And Jehovah of Hosts, in the might of his wrath,
On the wings of the storm, rushes terribly forth!
And the wild waves roar, and lightnings flash,
And Jehovah of Hosts, in the might of his wrath,
On the wings of the storm, rushes terribly forth!
But it is when amid the festive throng,
Where the mirthful dance, and the thrilling song
Flush the young cheek with the rose's ray,
And the soft lips smile, and hearts are gay,—
Where the mirthful dance, and the thrilling song
Flush the young cheek with the rose's ray,
And the soft lips smile, and hearts are gay,—
Then see I death frown fearfully near!
The groans of his victims sound shrill in mine ear;
While clinging around the beautiful form
Revels the clogged and loathsome worm!
The groans of his victims sound shrill in mine ear;
While clinging around the beautiful form
Revels the clogged and loathsome worm!
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It is then that amid sweet music's voice
My heart cannot sing, nor my lips rejoice,
For death shouts near! but faith replies,
“The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall arise!”
My heart cannot sing, nor my lips rejoice,
For death shouts near! but faith replies,
“The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall arise!”
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