 | Sacra Poesis |  |
TO MY COUSIN.
I'd wish for thee all that fancy could paint,
With hope's fairy pencil of bliss;
Ere stubborn reality renders it faint,
And proves how deceitful it is.
With hope's fairy pencil of bliss;
Ere stubborn reality renders it faint,
And proves how deceitful it is.
I'd wish for thee riches, but care, bitter care,
Claim still their companion to be;
I'd wish for thee beauty, unfading and fair,
As now I behold it in thee.
Claim still their companion to be;
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As now I behold it in thee.
But, ah, not the charms of beauty's form
Can preserve it from fading away,
'Tis the loan of the grave, 'tis a debt to the worm,
And now, even now, in its short-liv'd term,
'Tis the rainbow's fickle ray.
Can preserve it from fading away,
'Tis the loan of the grave, 'tis a debt to the worm,
And now, even now, in its short-liv'd term,
'Tis the rainbow's fickle ray.
Then what shall I wish thee? alas! 'tis in vain
To wish all that the world can bestow;
For trouble, and sorrow, vexation, and pain,
Will cloud each bright prospect below.
To wish all that the world can bestow;
For trouble, and sorrow, vexation, and pain,
Will cloud each bright prospect below.
I'll wish thee, my cousin, what earth cannot give,
What earth cannot take away;
In the smiles of thy God and thy Saviour to live
'Mid the cares of thy mortal day.
What earth cannot take away;
In the smiles of thy God and thy Saviour to live
'Mid the cares of thy mortal day.
And when thou in blessing hast ever been blest,
And hast liv'd to the praise of thy God,
With the faith of a martyr to enter thy rest,
With the love of a child to repose on the breast
Of him who prepares thy abode!
And hast liv'd to the praise of thy God,
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With the love of a child to repose on the breast
Of him who prepares thy abode!
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