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? And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! 'tis 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, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. 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 The darts of anguish fir not where the seat Soul of our souls, and safeguard of the world, AN EVENING SERVICE. THE cold wind strips the yellow leaf, The songs have ceased, and busy men O! in an hour so still as this, From care, and toil, and tumult stealing, I'll consecrate an hour to bliss To meek devotion's holy feeling, And rise to Thee-to thee, whose hand Being, whose all-pervading might Thou, ruler of our destiny! With million gifts hast thou supplied us, Hidden from our view futurity, Unveiling all the past to guide us. Though dark may be earth's vale, and damp, Gladdens and gilds our path before us. And in the silence of the scene Sweet tones from heaven are softly speaking, Celestial music breathes between, The slumbering soul of bliss awaking. Short is the darkest night, whose shade Death's darkness is more bright to him The silent tear, the deep-fetch'd sigh, Smiles from a conscience purified, This joy be ours-our weeks shall roll— Awaking, shall awake in heaven. |