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So sweetly, exquisitely wild,

It spake the Muse of Sorrow's child.

O Pillow! then, when light withdrew,
To thee the fond enthusiast flew;
On thee, in pensive mood reclined,
He pour'd his contemplative mind,
Till o'er his eyes with mild control,
Sleep like a soft enchantment stole,
Charm'd into life his airy schemes,
And realized his waking dreams.

Soon from those waking dreams he woke;
The fairy spell of fancy broke;
In vain he breathed a soul of fire
Through every chord that strung his lyre.
No friendly echo cheer'd his tongue,
Amidst the wilderness he sung;
Louder and bolder bards were crown'd,
Whose dissonance his music drown'd:
The public ear, the public voice,
Despised his song, denied his choice,
Denied a name,—a life in death,
Denied—a bubble and a breath.

Stript of his fondest, dearest claim,
And disinherited of fame,
To thee, O Pillow! thee alone,
He made his silent anguish known;
His haughty spirit scorn'd the blow
That laid his high ambition low;
But ah! his looks assumed in vain
A cold ineffable disdain,
While deep he cherish'd in his breast
The scorpion that consumed his rest.

Yet other secret griefs had he,
O Pillow! only told to thee:
Say, did not hopeless love intrude
On his poor bosom's solitude?
Perhaps on thy soft lap reclined,
In dreams the cruel fair was kind,

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Thus thy guardian angel spoke,
As he wateh'd thy dying bed;
As the bonds of life he broke,
And the ransom'd captive fled.

"Prisoner, long det&in'd below;
Prisoner, now with freedom blest;
Welcome, from a world of woe,
Welcome to a land of rest!"

Thus thy guardian angel sang,
As he bore thy soul on high;
While with hallelujahs rang
All the region of the sky.

Ye that mourn a father's loss,
Ye that weep a friend no more!
Call to mind the Christian cross,
Which your friend, your father bore.

Grief and penury and pain
Still attended on his way,
And oppression's scourge and chain,
More unmerciful than they.


Yet while travelling in distress,
('Twas the eldest curse of sin,)
Through the world's waste wilderness,
He had Paradise within.

And along that vale of tears
Which his humble footsteps trod,
Still a shining path appears,
Where the mourner walk'd with God.

Till his Master, from above,
When the promised hour was come,
Sent the chariot of His love
To convey the wanderer home.

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Now in deep and dreadful gloom,
Clouds on clouds portentous spread,

Black as if the day of doom
Hung o'er Nature's shrinking head:

Lo! the lightning breaks from high,—

God is coming!—God is nigh!

Hear ye not His chariot wheels,
As the mighty thunder rolls?

Nature, startled Nature reels,
From the centre to the poles;

Tremble! ocean, earth, and sky

Tremble!—God is passing by!

Darkness, wild with horror, forms
His mysterious hiding-place;

Should He, from His ark of storms,
Bend the veil, and show His face,

At the judgment of his eye,

All the universe would die.

Brighter, broader lightnings flash,
Hail and rain tempestuous fall;

Louder, deeper thunders crash,
Desolation threatens all;

Struggling Nature gasps for breath

In the agony of death.

God of vengeance from above,
While Thiue awful bolts are hurl'd,

O remember Thou art Love!
Spare! O spare a guilty world!

Stay Thy flaming wrath a while,

See Thy bow of promise smile!

Welcome, in the eastern cloud,

Messenger of mercy still!
Now, ye winds! proclaim aloud,

"Peace on Earth, to Man good will!"
Nature! God's repenting child,
See thy Parent reconciled!


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