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Yet bliss awaits the holy heart,
A CHURCH-YARD SCENE.
How sweet and solemn, all alone,
Such is the scene around me now:-
Its sylvan village sleeps below,
A place where all things mournful meet,
With what a pensive beauty fall
That rose-tree's cluster'd arches! See !
The robin-redbreast, warily,
Bright through the blossoms leaves his nest :
What lulling sound, and shadow cool
Oft have the holy wine and bread
Now, all beneath the turf are laid
Above that consecrated tree
Ascends the tapering spire, that seems
To heaven, with all its dreams;
UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.
O THOU Great Being! what thou art
Yet sure I am that known to thee
Thy creature here before thee stands,
Yet sure those ilis that wring my soul
Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act
O, free my weary eyes from tears,
But if I must afflicted be,
To suit some wise design;
EXODUS XX. 12.
THE voice of nature, yea, the voice of God,
Commands to honor those that gave us birth,— Even her, from whose supporting bosom flow'd
By far the sweetest stream that flows on earth; Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth Of soothing words that could our griefs allay
Even him who listen'd to our prattling mirth, Who early taught our infant lips to pray, And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom's way.
A parent is indeed a tender friend,
And if once lost, we never more shall find A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
Its feelings with our own congenial mind; Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind That hurries heedlessly and wildly by—
Our hearts, to lonely agony consign'd, May throb without relief-for no reply Comes from the mouldering breasts that in their gravebed lie.
And then we pause to think-alas! how late!—
Oh! but once more to see their face!-'tis vain!— Once more to hear their voice!-'t is sweetly driven Across our fancy, and expires,-and then We wish ourselves away-away to heaven,
To weep upon their breast, and there to be forgiven.
WHERE can I go from Thee!
Nature, and Time, and Thought, thine impress bear; Through earth, or sea, or sky,
Though wide and far I fly,
I turn, and find Thee present with me there.
The perfume of the rose,
And every flower that blows,
All mark thy love; the clusters of the vale,
Proclaim the bounties that can never fail.
The vapor and the cloud,
Speak of thy majesty in words of flame;
Lashing the rocks and shores,
Declares from what a mighty hand it came.
The vasty globes that roll,
Each on his own firm pole,
Through all the boundless fields of space alone,