« AnteriorContinuar »
And if the storms are wild,
We'll clasp each other and our child—
And neither shall remain
To meet and bear alone
The cares, the injuries, the pain,
Danger nor death can e'er destroy
Then wherefore should we grieve,
Though home, and friends, and life, we leave,
If he who made all things,
And rules them, is our own, Then every grief and trial brings Us nearer to his throne.
Then come, my gentle bride,
And come, my child of love;
Sweep! mighty ocean, sweep!
Ye winds, blow foul or fair,
Our God is with us on the deep!
THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER.
MOTHER, I am dying now,
Death's cold damps are on my brow!
Leave me not-each pảng grows stronger,
Patient watch a little longer.
Sweet it is your voice to hear,
Though dull and heavy grows mine ear;
Never mother loved like you!
Though your form I ne'er might see,
That vision fill'd me with delight.
Might I all their beauty view,
Sun or moon I could not see,
*It has been related of some who were recovered from early blindness, that they evidently expected to find those whom affection and kindness had endeared to them, the most beautiful to the eye.
But love measured time for me: When your kiss my slumber broke, Then I knew the morn had woke ; When I heard the loud winds blow, And I felt the warm fire glow, Then I knew 't was winter wild, And kept at home-your helpless child! When the air grew mild and soft, And the gay lark sang aloft, And I heard the streamlet flowing, And I smelt the wild flower blowing, And the bee did round me hum, Then I knew the spring was come. Forth I wander'd with delight, And I knew when days were bright; When I climb'd the green hill's side, Fancy traced the prospect wide; And 't was pleasant when I press'd The warm and downy turf to rest.Now I never more shall roam The many paths around my home; And you will often look in vain, Nor hail your wandering boy again ; Never more on tiptoe creep,
Where he lies as if asleep;
Or with a low and plaintive moan,
On a bed of wild flowers stretch'd,
Than to be in life alone,
When she and every friend were gone.
THE VOICE AND TEMPLE OF NATURE.
"T WAS Eve's pensive twilight, the valley was gray, And the golden streak'd west seem'd the memory of day;
Between the dark trees almost deepen'd to night,
And all was so still and so fragrant around,
That the fragrance appear'd from the stillness to
It seem'd as if Nature reposed on the ground,
The nightingale singing within her green cells,
O, her notes sobb'd so true, it was Grief when she
All the woes of her breast to the listening of Pity.
Nought was heard when she paused, but the sound of the rill,
With its little lone music so silvery and meek,
Seem'd as first infant essays of Silence to speak
The moon slowly rising behind the tall trees,
Her silver globe seem'd to suspend from the pine'T was the calm lamp of Silence-the leaves felt no
And the world at that moment seem'd form'd but to shine.
All soothed and subdued in the midst of the scene,
THEY sin who tell us Love can die :
All others are but vanity.
Its holy flame forever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times oppress'd,
It here is tried and purified,