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Yet, why with those compar'd? What tints so fine,
All cold the hand that sooth'd Woe's weary head ! All quench'd the eye the pitying tear that shed ! All mute the voice whose pleasing accents stole ; Infusing balm into the rankled soul O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power, And spare the weed, yet lop the lovely flower ? Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven ! Is virtue then no more the care of heaven ?But peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart! We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart. 'Scap'd the dark dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn ? Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow, O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw; Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted cye, O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high. Black billowy seas in storms perpetual tost, And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost. O happy stroke that bursts the bonds of clay, Darts thro’ the rending gloom the blaze of day, And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. Transporting thought! here let me wipe away The falling tear, and wake a bolder lay; But ah ! afresh the swimming eye o'erflowsNor check the tear that streams for human woes. Lo! o'er her dust, in speechless anguish, bend, The hopeless Parent, Husband, Brother, Friend !How vain the hope of man!-But cease thy strain, Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane; Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, o'er her bier, In silence, shed the sympathetic tear.
For by one offering He hath perfected for ever them that
are sanctified.-Heb. x, 14.
With blood-but not his own-the awful sign
At once of sin's desert and guilt's remission, The Jew besought the clemency divine,
The hope of mercy blending with contrition. Sin must have death! Its holy requisition
The law may not relax. The opening tomb Expects its prey; mere respite, life's condition;
Nor can the body shun its penal doon. Yet, there is mercy, wherefore else delay
To punish? Why the victim and the rite?
The guilt, and for a broken law requite?
The mercy-seat, and Heaven received his prayer. Yet still his hope was dimmed by doubt and fear:
If Thou shouldst mark transgression, who might dare To stand before Thee?' Mercy loves to spare
And pardon : but stern Justice has a voice And cries-Our God is holy, nor can bear
Uncleanness in the people of his choice. But now One Offering, ne'er to be renewed,
Hath made our peace for ever.-This now gives
No more base fear and dark disquietude.
WELCOME silence! welcome peace!
O most welcome, holy shade! Thus I prove, as years increase,
My heart and soul for quiet made. Thus I fix my firm belief,
While rapture's gushing tears descend, That every flower and every leaf
Is moral truth's unerring friend. I would not, for a world of gold,
That Nature's lovely face should tire; Fountain of blessings yet untold ;
Pure source of intellectual fire ! Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song,
Unquickened 'midst the world's rude strife, Shall sweet retirement render strong,
And morning silence bring to life. Then tell me not that I shall grow
Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy;
An everlasting tide of joy.
That keen will come the frosty night;
Yield reason's most supreme delight.
To rural gods, or prostrate fall;
( Heaven permit that I may lie
Where o'er my corpse, green branches wave; And those who from life's tumults fly
With kindred feelings press my grave.
ON A FRIEND WHO DIED AT SEA.
(REV. J. LAWSON, LATE MISSIONARY AT CALCUTTA.]
No mortal eye hath 'seen thy bed,
Where the sea forest grows.
Low in the ocean's womb,
The coral is thy willow,
To wrap the holy dead.
Of the hymn-breathing shell.