Thy image Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales,
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty; and the complaining brooks,
That make the meadow green; and, poured round all,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce;
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings; yet-the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep-the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them.
So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Sacred Melody.-NEW YORK AMERICAN.
"Sing to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea." Exodus xv. 26.
YE daughters and soldiers of Israel, look back!
Where where are the thousands who shadowed your track-
The chariots that shook the deep earth as they rolled-
The banners of silk, and the helmets of gold?
Where are they-the vultures, whose beaks would have fed
On the tide of your hearts ere the pulses had fled?
Give glory to God, who in mercy arose,
And strewed mid the waters the strength of our foes!
When we travelled the waste of the desert by day,
With his banner-cloud's motion he marshalled our way;
When we saw the tired sun in his glory expire,
Before us he walked, in a pillar of fire!
But this morn, and the Israelites' strength was a reed,
That shook with the thunder of chariot and steed:
Where now are the swords and their far-flashing sweep?
Their lightnings are quenched in the depths of the deep.
O thou, who redeemest the weak one at length,
And scourgest the strong in the pride of their strength--
Who holdest the earth and the sea in thine hand,
And rulest Eternity's shadowy land—
To thee let our thoughts and our offerings tend,
Of virtue the Hope, and of sorrow the Friend;
Let the incense of prayer still ascend to thy throne,
Omnipotent-glorious-eternal-alone!
The Graves of the Patriots.—PERCIVAL.
HERE rest the great and good-here they repose
After their generous toil. A sacred band,
They take their sleep together, while the year
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves.
And gathers them again, as Winter frowns.
Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre; green sods
Are all their monument; and yet it tells
A nobler history than pillared piles,
Or the eternal pyramids. They need
No statue nor inscription to reveal
Their greatness. It is round them; and the joy
With which their children tread the hallowed ground
That holds their venerated bones, the peace
That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth
That clothes the land they rescued,-these, though mute, As feeling ever is when deepest,-these
Are monuments more lasting than the fanes
Reared to the kings and demigods of old.
Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade
Over their lowly graves; beneath their boughs
There is a solemn darkness, even at noon,
Suited to such as visit at the shrine
Of serious Liberty. No factious voice
Called them unto the field of generous fame,
But the pure consecrated love of home.
No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes
In all its greatness. It has told itself
To the astonished gaze of awe-struck kings,
At Marathon, at Bannockburn, and here,
Where first our patriots sent the invader back
Broken and cowed. Let these green elms be all
To tell us where they fought, and where they lie.
Their feelings were all nature, and they need
No art to make them known. They live in us,
While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold,
Worshipping nothing but our own pure hearts,
And the one universal Lord. They need
Ne column, pointing to the heaven they sought,
To tell us of their home. The heart itself,
Left to its own free purpose, hastens there,
And there alone reposes. Let these elms
Bend their protecting shadow o'er their graves,
And build, with their green roof, the only fane
Where we may gather on the hallowed day,
That rose to them in blood, and set in glory.
Here let us meet, and, while our motionless lips
Give not a sound, and all around is mute
In the deep sabbath of a heart too full
For words or tears,-here let us strew the sod
With the first flowers of spring, and make to them
An offering of the plenty Nature gives,
And they have rendered ours-perpetually.
Funeral Hymn.-CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.
HE has gone to his God; he has gone to his home, No more amid peril and error to roam;
His eyes are no longer dim ;
His feet will no more falter;
No grief can follow him;
No pang his cheek can alter.
There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below; For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow;
But the harps of heaven are ringing;
Glad angels come to greet him;
And hymns of joy are singing
While old friends press to meet him.
O honored, beloved, to earth unconfined,
Thou hast soared on high; thou hast left us behind.
But our parting is not forever;
We will follow thee, by heaven's light,
Where the grave cannot dissever
The souls whom God will unite.
Yes, visions of his future rest
To man, the pilgrim, here are shown; Deep love, pure friendship, thrill his breast, And hopes rush in of joys unknown.
Released from earth's dull round of cares,
The aspiring soul her vigor tries;
Plumes her soiled pinions, and prepares
To soar amid ethereal skies.
Around us float, in changing light,
The dazzling forms of distant years;
And earth becomes a glorious sight,
Beyond which opening heaven appears.
We did not part as others part;
And should we meet on earth no more, Yet deep and dear, within my heart,
Some thoughts will rest, a treasured store.
How oft, when weary and alone,
Have I recalled each word, each look,
The meaning of each varying tone,
And the last parting glance we took!
Yes, sometimes, even here, are found Those who can touch the chords of love,
And wake a glad and holy sound,
Like that which fills the courts above.
It is as when a traveller hears,
In a strange land, his native tongue,
A voice he loved in happier years,
A song that once his mother sung.
We part; the sea will roll between,
While we through different climates roam;
Sad days, a life may intervene ;
But we shall meet again,-at home.
|