THE GENIUS OF DEATH. WHAT is Death? 'Tis to be free ! To join the great equality : All alike are humble there! The mighty grave Wraps lord and slave; Nor pride, nor poverty dares come Spirit with the drooping wing, Their multitude Sink, like waves upon the shore; Storms shall never rouse them more! What's the grandeur of the earth To the grandeur round thy throne! Riches, glory, beauty, birth, To thy kingdom all have gone. The wondrous band Bards, heroes, sages, side by side, Who darken'd nations when they died! Earth has hosts; but thou canst show Many a million for her one; Through thy gates the mortal flow No step has come; There fix'd, till the last thunder's sound "EVERY PLANT WHICH MY HEAVENLY FATHER HATH NOT PLANTED, SHALL BE ROOTED UP.” SWIFT the tempest strips the wood, Error, like the flimsy sail 'Rent by every passing gale, Floats her moment on the stream, Glitters in the morning beam, Dares the breath of heaven to brave, And founders in the foaming wave. Even the little garden flower, Nought endures but thou, O Lord; Thou, the first, the midst, the end; IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE. METHINKS it is good to be here; But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, Shall we build to Ambition? Ah! no, Affrighted he shrinketh away; For see! they would pin him below To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah! no: she forgets The skin which, but yesterday, fools could adore Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! 't is in vain, Who hid in their turns have been hid: The treasures are squander'd again; And here in the grave are all metals forbid, To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah! no; they have wither'd and died, Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side, Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear Which compassion itself could relieve; Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear; Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah! no; for his empire is known, And here there are trophies enow; Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd; And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. DESPONDENCY CORRECTED. ONE adequate support For the calamities of mortal life Soul of our souls, and safeguard of the world, |