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Smooth meads, and lawns, that glow with varying
dyes, Of dew-bespangled leaves and blossoms bright,
Hence !-vanish from my sight! Delusive pictures, unsubstantial shows ! My soul, absorbed, one only Being knows,
Of all perceptions one abundant source, Whence every object every moment flows.
Suns hence derive their force,
Hence planets learn their course :-
'T was summer, and a Sabbath eve,
And balmy was the air ;
Within a little coffin lay
Like waxen dolls which children dress,
The little bodies were;
And in the coffin short and wide,
They lay together, side by side.
Each little hand within;
And many a pink was strow'd around
And yet the flowers that round them lay
Were not to me more fair than they.
Sat by them on the bed;
Yet oft she cried amidst her pain,
THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER'S PROSPECT
THE hour, the hour, the parting hour,
On the same withering bier, my soul !
Of mortal hope and fear, my soul !
To praise the immortal One, my soul !
Nor dwell alone in heaven, my soul!
How sweet, while waning fast away
The golden dawn arise, my soul !
In ever-living love, my soul !
That shuns this wintry clime, my soul ! The hour that draws o'er earth and all Its briars and blooms the mortal pall,-How how sweet, that evening-fall
Of fear, and grief, and time, my soul !
Then never tear shall fall,
The heart shall ne'er be cold;
With fruit more "golden far than gold.”
Then those we lost below
Once more we shall infold;
The burning throne of God behold.
There the pure sun-bow glows,
Unaided by the shower;
No thorn attends the Elysian rose,
No shadow marks the blissful hour.
There roll the streams of love,
Beyond death's wintry power!
By many a bless'd immortal's bower.
GOD SEEN IN ALL THINGS.
Thou art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see; Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from thee : Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine. When day with farewell beam delays,
Among the opening clouds of even,
Through golden vistas into heaven,
O’ershadows all the earth and skies,
Is sparkling with a thousand eyes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh,
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye:
The scene was more beautiful far, to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it: The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it. The murmur arose, as I silently gazed
On the shadowy waves' playful motion, From the dim distant isle till the beacon-fire blazed,
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.
No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly breathed numbers, The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers.
I sigh’d as I look'd from the hill's gentle slope;
And hush'd was the billows' commotion; And I thought that the beacon look'd lovely as hope,
The star of life's tremulous ocean.
The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet, when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star
That blazed on the breast of the billow,