When on the verge we stand
Of the eternal clime,
And death, with solemn hand,
Draws back the veil of Time;
When flesh and spirit quake
Before Thee to appear-
For the Redeemer's sake,
O God, our Father, hear!
THOMAS PRINGLE, 1789-1834.
BUT hark! I hear her liquid tone.
Now, Hesper, guide my feet
Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown,
Through yon wild thicket next the plain,
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane
Which leads to her retreat.
See the green space: on either hand
Enlarged, it spreads around :
See, in the midst she takes her stand,
Where one old oak his awful shade
Extends o'er half the level mead
Enclosed in woods profound.
Hark! how through many a melting note
She now prolongs her lays :
How sweetly down the void they float!
The breeze their magic path attends;
The stars shine out; the forest bends;
The wakeful heifers gaze.
Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring
To this sequester'd spot,
If then the plaintive siren sing,
Oh softly tread beneath her bower,
And think of Heaven's disposing power,
Of man's uncertain lot.
Oh think, o'er all this mortal stage,
What mournful scenes arise;
What ruin waits on kingly rage;
How often virtue dwells with woe;
How many griefs from knowledge flow;
How swiftly pleasure flies.
O sacred bird, let me at eve,
Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity nature's common cares
Till I forget my own.
MARK AKENSIDE, 1721-1770.
HARK! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling
Earth's weary children to repose;
While, round the couch of Nature falling,
Gently, the night's soft curtains close.
Soon o'er a world in sleep reclining,
Numberless stars, through yonder dark,
Shall look, like eyes of cherubs shining
From out the veils that hid the Ark.
Guard us, O Thou who never sleepest,
Thou who, in silence throned above,
Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest
Thy watch of glory, power, and love.
Grant that, beneath Thine eye, securely
Our souls, a while from life withdrawn,
May in their darkness, stilly, purely,
Like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn.
THOMAS MOORE, 1779-1852.
SPIRIT of Spring! when the cheek is pale,
There is health in thy balmy air,
And peace in that brow of beaming bright,
And joy in that eye of sunny light,
And golden hope in that flowing hair:
Oh that such influence e'er should fail
For a moment, Spirit of Spring!
Spirit of health, peace, joy, and hope, Spirit of Spring!
Yet fail it must-for it comes of earth,
And it may not shame its place of birth,
Where the best can bloom but a single day,
And the fairest is first to fade away.
But oh! there's a changeless world above,
A world of peace, and joy, and love,
Where, gather'd from the tomb,
The holy hopes that earth has cross'd,
And the pious friends we loved and lost,
Immortally shall bloom.
Who will not watch, and strive, and pray,
That his longing soul may soar away
On Faith's untiring wing,
To join the throng of the saints in light,
In that world, for ever fair and bright,
Of endless, cloudless Spring.
SING on, sweet bird! the dull decaying year
Much needs thy music, for the sons of spring
Sit in the silent shade with flagging wing,
And still Creation waits with anxious ear
Thy ever-pleasing song.-Thou seem'st to me
The cherub Consolation at the bed
Of withering Age, when summer friends are fled,
Cheering his hours with heavenly minstrelsy.
Like the declining year, I too have known
The sweet spring-time in cloudless beauty fair,
And winter's storms may find me left alone,
Unscreen'd and naked as the leafless tree : Thrice happy then! would Heaven in mercy spare One friend as constant and as true as thee.
-Poetical Register, Dec. 1807.
GOD VISIBLE IN HIS WORKS.
THE stately heavens, which glory doth array,
Are mirrors of God's admirable might;
There, whence forth spreads the night forth springs
He fix'd the fountains of this temporal light,
|