40 A VISION. A VISION. IN visions which are not of night, a shadowy vale I see, The path of pilgrim tribes, who are, who have been, or shall be; At either end are lowering clouds, impervious to the sight, And frequent shadows veil, throughout, each gleam of passing light. A path it is of joys and griefs, of many hopes and fears; Gladdened at times by sunny smiles, but oftener dimmed by tears. Green leaves are there, they quickly fade-bright flowers, but soon they die; Its banks are lav'd by pleasant streams, but soon their bed is dry; And some that roll on to the last with undiminish'd force, Have lost that limpid purity which graced their early source; They seem to borrow in their flow the tinge of dark ening years, And e'en their mournful, murmuring sound befits the vale of tears. A VISION. 41 Pleasant that valley's opening scenes appear to childhood's view, The flowers are bright, the turf is green, the sky above is blue; A blast may blight, a beam may scorch, a cloud may intervene, But, lightly marked and soon forgot, they mar not such a scene; Fancy still paints the future bright, and Hope the present cheers, Nor can we deem the path we tread leads through a vale of tears. But soon, too soon, the flowers that deck'd our early pathway side Have drooped and withered on their stalks, and one by one have died; The turf by noon's fierce heat is sear'd, the sky is overcast, There's thunder in the torrent's tone, and tempest in the blast; Fancy is but a phantom found, and hope a dream appears, And more and more our hearts confess this life a vale of tears. Darker and darker seems the path! how sad to journey on, When hands and hearts which gladdened ours appear forever gone! 42 A VISION. Some cold in death, and some, alas! we fancied could not chill, Living to self and to the world, to us seem colder still; With mournful, retrospective glance we look to brighter years, And tread with solitary steps the thorny vale of tears. Then wasting pain and slow disease trace furrows on the brow, The grasshopper, alighting down, is felt a burthen now, The silver cord is loosening fast its feeble, slender hold, The fountain's pitcher soon must break, and bowl of purer gold;— Oh were it not for that blest hope which even death endears, How weary were our pilgrimage through this dark vale of tears! ANON. TIME GROWS NOT OLD. 43 TIME GROWS NOT OLD. TIME grows not old with length of years; Stars in perennial rounds return, We are not for one hour the same. Spring flowers renew their sweet perfume, Our bloom more precious-yet we die! Yet stars, like flowers, have but their day, And Time, like stars, shall cease to roll ;We have what never can decay, A living and immortal soul ! Lord God! when Time shall end his flight, Thy love in Christ may we adore. ANON. TIME speeds away-away-away: Drop from us like the leaflets sere; Time speeds away-away-away: And sweeps from our distracted breast The friends that loved-the friends that bless'd; And leaves us weeping on the shore, ANON. |