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At her approach the Grave appears
The Gate of Paradise restored ; Her voice the watching Cherub hears,
And drops his double-flaming sword.
Baptized with her renewing fire,
May we the crown of glory gain ; Rise when the Host of Heaven expire,
And reign with God, for ever reign ! « THE JOY OF GRIEF.”
Sweet the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh ; And the tear of resignation
Twinkles in the mournful eye.
Have you felt a kind emotion
Tremble through your troubled breast; Soft as evening o'er the ocean,
When she charms the waves to rest ?
Have you lost a friend, or brother?
Heard a father's parting breath ? Gazed upon a lifeless mother,
Till she seem'd to wake from death ?
Have you felt a spouse expiring
your view ? Watch'd the lovely soul retiring From her
that broke on you?
Did not grief then grow romantic,
Raving on remember'd bliss ? Did you not, with fervour frantic,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss ?
Yes ! but, when you had resign'd her,
Life and you were reconciled ; Anna left-she left behind her,
One, one dear, one only child.
But before the green moss peeping,
grave array'd, In that grave the infant sleeping
On the mother's lap was laid.
Horror then, your heart congealing,
Chill'd you with intense despair ; Can you call to mind the feeling ;
No! there was no feeling there !
From that gloomy trance of sorrow,
When you woke to pangs unknown, How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on YOU ALONE.
Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
Can the poor heart always ache ? No, the tortured nerve will languish,
Or the strings of life must break.
O'er the yielding brow of Sadness
One faint smile of comfort stole ; One soft pang of tender gladness
Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.
While the wounds of woe are healing,
While the heart is all resign'd; 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
'Tis the sabbath of the mind.
Pensive memory then retraces
Scenes of bliss for ever fled, Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with the dead.
And when night's prophetic slumbers
Rend the veil to mortal eyes, From their tombs the sainted numbers
Of our lost companions rise.
You have seen a friend, a brother,
Heard a dear dead father speak; Proved the fondness of a mother,
Felt her tears upon your cheek !