In darkness as in light, I sleep, I wake, as in his sight All that I am, have been, All that I yet may be, He sees at once, as he hath seen, And shall forever see. "Forever with the Lord": Father, if 't is thy will, The promise of that faithful word Unto thy child fulfil! So, when my latest breath Shall rend the veil in twain, By death I shall escape from death, And life eternal gain. PRAYER. PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire The motion of a hidden fire Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways; While angels in their songs rejoice, And say, "Behold he prays!" O Thou, by whom we come to God, HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. [1762-1827.] WHILST THEE I SEEK. WHILST Thee I seek, protecting Power, With better hopes be filled. Thy love the power of thought bestowed; In each event of life, how clear In every joy that crowns my days, My heart shall find delight in praise, When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall fill; Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet thy will. My lifted eye, without a tear, The gathering storm shall see; My steadfast heart shall know no fear; That heart shall rest on thee. UNKNOWN. THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN. CAN angel spirits need repose In the full sunlight of the sky? And can the veil of slumber close A cherub's bright and blazing eye? Have seraphim a weary brow, A fainting heart, an aching breast? No, far too high their pulses flow To languish with inglorious rest. O, not the death-like calm of sleep Could hush the everlasting song; No fairy dream or slumber deep Entrance the rapt and holy throng. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. Yet not the lightest tone was heard A joy not angel tongues could tell, O, what is silence here below? The fruit of a concealed despair; The pause of pain, the dream of woe ;— It is the rest of rapture there. And to the way worn pilgrim here, More kindred seems that perfect peace, Than the full chants of joy to hear Roll on, and never, never cease. From earthly agonies set free, Tired with the path too slowly trod, May such a silence welcome me Into the palace of my God. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. [U. S. A., 1767-1848.] TO A BEREAVED MOTHER. SURE, to the mansions of the blest When infant innocence ascends, Some angel, brighter than the rest, The spotless spirit's flight attends. On wings of ecstasy they rise, Beyond where worlds material roll, Till some fair sister of the skies Receives the unpolluted soul. With dust united at our birth, Has quenched the radiance of the flame; Back to its God the living fire Reverts, unclouded as it came. Fond mourner! be that solace thine! Let Hope her healing charm impart, And soothe, with melodies divine, The anguish of a mother's heart. For reasons not to love him once I sought, 'T was vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death! I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me! but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years Wept he as bitter tears! "Merciful God!" such was his latest prayer, "These may she never share!" Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, And, O, pray, too, for me! Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, Its piteous pageants bring not back, Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death, - Receive my parting ghost! This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine, By him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robbed the grave of victory, And took the sting from death! Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste, Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Saying, Weare twins in death, proud Sun! Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, Thy face is cold, thy race is run, "T is Mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Nor with thy rising beams recall On earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his immortality, Or shake his trust in God! GLENARA. O, HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? "T is the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud: |