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SONNET IN HIS SICKNESS.

Yes, 'twill be over soon.-This sickly dream
Of life will vanish from my feverish brain;
And death my wearied spirit will redeem
From this wild region of unvaried pain.
Yon brook will glide as softly as before-

Yon landscape smile-yon golden harvest grow-
Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar
When Henry's name is heard no more below.
I sigh when all my youthful friends caress-

They laugh in health, and future evils brave;
Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,
While I am mould'ring in my silent grave.
God of the just-Thou gav'st the bitter cup;
I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.

SONNET TO CONSUMPTION.

Gently, most gently, on thy victim's head,
Consumption, lay thine hand!-let me decay,
Like the expiring lamp, unseen away,

And softly go to slumber with the dead.
And if 'tis true, what holy men have said,

That strains angelic oft foretell the day

Of death to those good men who fall thy prey,

O let the aerial music round my bed,

Dissolving sad in dying symphony,

Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear,
That I may bid my weeping friends good-bye
Ere I depart upon my journey drear:
And, smiling faintly on the painful past,
Compose my decent head, and breathe my last.

SOLITUDE.

It is not that my lot is low,

That bids this silent tear to flow;
It is not grief that bids me moan,

It is that I am all alone.

In woods and glens I love to roam,
When the tired hedger hies him home;
Or by the woodland pool to rest,
When the pale star looks on its breast.

Yet, when the silent evening sighs
With hallow'd airs and symphonies,
My spirit takes another tone,
And sighs that it is all alone.

The autumn leaf is sear and dead,
It floats upon the water's bed:
I would not be a leaf, to die
Without recording sorrow's sigh!

The woods and winds, with sullen wail,

Tell all the same unvaried tale;

I've none to smile when I am free,
And when I sigh to sigh with me!

Yet, in my dreams, a form I view
That thinks on me, and loves me too:
I start, and when the vision's flown,
I weep that I am all alone.

ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT.

Come, Disappointment, come!

Not in thy terrors clad;

Come in thy meekest, saddest guise;
Thy chastening rod but terrifies

The restless and the bad.

But I recline

Beneath thy shrine,

And, round my brow resign'd, thy peaceless cypress twine

Though Fancy flies away

Before thy hollow tread,

Yet Meditation, in her cell,

Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell

That tells her hopes are dead;

And though the tear

By chance appear,

Yet she can smile, and say, "My all was not laid here."

Come, Disappointment, come!

Though from Hope's summit hurl'd,
Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven,
For thou severe wert sent from heaven
To wean me from the world:

To turn my eye

From vanity,

And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die.

What is this passing scene?

A peevish April day!

A little sun-a little rain,

And then night sweeps along the plain,

And all things fade away.

Man (soon discuss'd)

Yields up his trust,

And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust.

O, what is beauty's power?

It flourishes and dies;

Will the cold earth its silence break,
To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek
Beneath its surface lies?
Mute, mute is all

O'er Beauty's fall;

Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall.

The most belov'd on earth

Not long survives to-day;
So music past is obsolete-

And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet;
But now 'tis gone away.

Thus does the shade

In memory fade,

When in forsaken tomb the form belov'd is laid.

Then, since this world is vain,

And volatile, and fleet,

Why should I lay up earthly joys,

Where rust corrupts, and moth destroys,

And cares and sorrows eat?

Why fly from ill

With anxious skill,

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still?

Come, Disappointment, come!

Thou art not stern to me;
Sad monitress! I own thy sway;
A votary sad in early day,

I bend my knee to thee:
From sun to sun

My race will run;

I only bow, and say, "My God, thy will be done!"

TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!
Whose modest form, so delicately fine,
Was nursed in whirling storms,
And cradled in the winds;

Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway,
And dared the sturdy blust'rer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw,

To mark his victory.

In this low vale, the promise of the year,
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale,
Unnoticed and alone,

Thy tender elegance.

So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity; in some lone walk

Of life she rears her head,

Obscure and unobserved;

While every bleaching breeze that on her blows
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,

And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

When marshall'd on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks-
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode;

The storm was loud-the night was dark; The ocean yawned-and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stemWhen suddenly a star arose:

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease;

And through the storm and dangers' thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moored-my perils o'er-
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

Forever and forevermore,

The Star-the Star of Bethlehem!

A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.

O Lord! another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,

Are met once more before thy throne,

To bless thy fostering hand.

And wilt thou bend a list'ning ear

To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.

And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign,
As we before thee pray;

For thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.

O let thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease!

And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

Thus chasten'd, cleans'd, entirely thine,
A flock by Jesus led,

The Sun of Holiness shall shine

In glory on our head.

And thou wilt turn our wandering feet,

And thou wilt bless our way,

Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day!

TRUE PHILOSOPHY.

Blest as you are with the good testimony of an approving conscience, and happy in an intimate communion with the all-pure, and all-merciful God, these trifling concerns ought not to molest you; nay, were the tide of adversity to turn strong against you, even were your friends to forsake you, and abject poverty to stare you in the face, you ought to be abundantly thankful to God for his mercies to you; you ought to consider yourself still as rich, yea, to look around you, and say, I am far happier than the sons of men. This is a system of philosophy which, for myself, I shall not only preach, but practice. We are here for nobler purposes than to waste the fleeting moments of our lives in lamentations and wailings over troubles which, in their widest extent, do but affect the present state, and which, perhaps, only regard our personal ease and prosperity. Make me an outcast-a beggar; place me a barefooted pilgrim on the top of the Alps or the Pyrenees; and I should have wherewithal to sustain the spirit within me, in the reflection that all this was but as for a moment, and that a period would come when wrong, and injury, and trouble should be no more. Are we to be so utterly enslaved by habit and asso

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