The Deluge and other Poems : electronic version.

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series 151 Managing Editor Charlotte Payne Founding Editor Nancy Kushigian The deluge and other poems Hiles, Mary by Mary Hiles Printed by Thomas Pennell Kidderminster (England) [182-]

This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler I:573. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:573mf.

All poems, line groups, and lines are represented. All material originally typeset has been preserved, with the exception of running heads, the original prose line breaks, signature markings, smallcaps and decorative typographical elements. Page numbers and page breaks have been preserved. Pencilled annotations and other damage to the text have not been preserved.

May 3, 2007 Charlotte Payne ed. Proofed and entered final corrections.

[Title Page]

THEDELUGEANDOTHER POEMS. BY MARY HILES. KIDDERMINSTER: PRINTED BY THOMAS PENNELL, HIGH-STREET, FOR THE WHOLESALE BOOKSELLERS, LONDON. DEDICATION. TO MY FATHER.

TO you, my beloved and only Parent, I dedicate these simple effusions of my early years, in acknowledgment of the ceaseless affection you have ever shewn me, and my consequent debt of gratitude, which I feel can never be repaid.

M. H. PREFACE.

THE Writer of the following little Poems pleads no apology for presenting them to the Public, because (though they contain little or nothing to excite admiration) she hopes they exhibit no sentiment prejudicial to the cause of religion and virtue. Having spent a retired life, her opportunities have been very limited of observing objects more than usually sublime in Nature, or beautiful in Art; consequently her excitations to exert an excursive imagination have been few; and whenever these were indulged, so as to produce any poetical effort, the production has generally been suppressed, under an apprehension thatfanciful subjects were more apt to please than profit.

To subject imaginary flights to the scrutiny of reason and the decisions of judgment, will often destroy their beauty; but even beauty is not to be tolerated at the expense of truth.

She is aware that the path she has taken will present fewer attractions, but she was unwilling to incur the charge of endeavouring to please the imagination, without any attempt to improve the heart.

The humble sphere of life in which she moves may be sufficient to protect her from critical severity, whilst it is not too limited to hope for at least congeniality of sentiment.

She takes this opportunity to express her sincere obligations to those friends, by whose solicitations she has been induced to publish this small volume, and to apologize for the delay which has elapsed since its first announcement, which, however, arose from circumstances over which she had no control.

Kidderminster, Sept. CONTENTS. The Deluge, Part I. 1 The Deluge, Part II. 11 The Forsaken Mother to her Infant 23 To a Fallen Leaf 27 On the Death of a Friend 29 To an Infant sleeping 31 Reflections on Death 34 Sonnet to the Moon 36 To my Father, on his Birth-Day 37 Written on visiting former Scenes 39 On the sudden Death of a Friend 41 On finding a Bird's Nest 43 On the Erection of a Summer-House near two Cottages 45 On Hope 47 On visiting the School for the Blind, Liverpool 49 "Jesus wept" 51 On seeing several Infants baptized by the Rev. J. J. Freeman 53 To my elder Brother, on his Birth-Day 55 On the Death of an Infant 57 What is Life? 59 Hymn for Evening 61 To a Child four years old 63 To a Friend at Parting 65 To my Pupils 67 Day (in imitation of "Night," by Montgomery) 70 Reflections in a Church-Yard 74 "Behold, I stand at the door and knock" 76 To the Memory of T—— L—— 78 Sonnet to Friendship 80 The Pastor 81 The Gamester 83 Farewell 85 To a Redbreast 86 Angels 87 "She sweetly smiled" 89 The Captives 91 The Hermit's Invitation 93 Answer to the Hermit's Invitation 95 On the Death of Miss Jane Taylor 97 Pity 99 Inscription for a Tomb-stone, which records the Death of four Infants 101 To the Evening Star 102 "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life" 104 The Dream 105 To a Tear 106 Night 108 Sonnet to the Snowdrop 110 Spring 111 To a Bee 113 To a Murmuring Stream 114 Sunshine in a Shower 116 Evening 117 Written for an Album 119 To Peace 121 Autumn 123 To the Memory of my dearest Relative 124 To my Sister M— 129 To a Friend 132 To a Nightingale 135 "Remember me" 137 The Infant's Prayer 139 "O tell me, where does Beauty beam?" 141 The Parting Voice of Summer 142 Home 144 THE DELUGE.IN TWO PARTS. PART I. ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed—Rebellion of the Antediluvians—The awful consequences—Ruin of those who obey not the Gospel—The remarkable preservation of Noah and his family—Allusions to other instances of divine mercy manifested towards the righteous when destruction overthrew the wicked—Blessedness of the people of God—Mercy offers safety to all who desire to escape the wrath to come— The waters assuage—The raven and the dove—Noah leaves the ark.

THAT rude rebellion 'gainst a gracious God, Which rous'd the terrors of his direful rod; Those tempests bursting from his angry breath, That wrapt each mortal in th' embrace of death, (Save one who on the tablet of his breast Had piety indelibly imprest, And those united by affection's tie To him, in sacred, social harmony), Describe, my pen;—yet thou canst ne'er portray In faithful colours that tremendous day, When the Almighty's voice the silence broke, And in vehement strains of fury spoke. Long, long had Pride essay'd, with daring hands, T' efface Jehovah's wisely just commands; Had plac'd her throne, and rear'd her banner high, Against the Sov'reign Ruler of the sky, Who bade yon splendid orbs in concert roll, Diffusing lucid rays from pole to pole; Who holds the ocean in his mighty hand, That flows and ebbs at his supreme command. Repeated warnings from his gracious throne Had made his mercy and long-suff'ring known To a relentless, unbelieving race, That liv'd unaw'd by power, unmov'd by grace. But ah! no contrite tears their cheeks bedew'd, No holy principles their sins subdu'd. At length the day of vengeance came,—and then No kind forbearance stay'd his wrath again: His hand unfurl'd the curtains of the sky, And floods descended, streaming from on high. Oh! when the infant sought its wonted rest On the soft pillow of a parent's breast, How vainly then her fond encircling arms Would strive to shield it from impending harms! How eagerly would each remaining steep, Above the bosom of the rolling deep, Be grasp'd with trembling hands and hearts by those Who saw no welcome haven of repose. But not the higher eminence could save One sinful mortal from a watery grave. 'Twas vain—alas! how vain to seek defence, Or essay to resist Omnipotence! The whelming waters rose—increas'd—prevail'd: Each human plan and human effort fail'd. E'en the last lingering light of hope was o'er, And generations sunk—to rise no more. Yet a more solemn, more tremendous day, When heaven shall shake, and earth shall pass away, Will surely come,—and at the judgment-seat Of Christ, the whole, the spacious world must meet. Though once to seek and save the lost, He came, Assum'd humanity, and bore its name; Then to regain its glory and repose, Became the partner of its varied woes; Sheath'd the dread sword, by incens'd Justice bar'd, And freedom to the captive soul declar'd;— Yet all the tribes of earth must see Him stand, And weigh their actions with impartial hand. How will they view that grand, eventful day, Who wander from the safe, the narrow way, To walk in one unsanctifi'd career, Nor ever shed the penitential tear?— Who close their ears against the gospel's voice, Nor make the noblest gift of grace their choice? Will not the Judge to them in justice say, "Depart—ye unbelievers—far away?" Yes: as the all-devouring billows came, And swept away the being, and the name Of those, regardless of a perfect law, Whom threats could not affright, nor mercies draw; So, when the "Son of Man" again shall come, To call his own, his ransom'd people, home; His wrath shall burst, as a destroying flood, On rebels who defy the power of God. But when no trace of human pride remain'd, When o'er earth's empire desolation reign'd, Were all mankind enwrapt in shades of death? Did incens'd Justice stifle every breath? No: mark the perfect and behold the just; Firm was his hope, unshaken was his trust; The path of rectitude he long had trod, Who saw within the ark a smiling God. While floods o'erwhelm'd, and angry tempests beat, A solid basis stood beneath his feet; A canopy above, securely spread, Preserv'd each inmate and himself from dread. And now the furious billows higher rise, The stately ark approximates the skies. Does this a solitary instance stand, To righteous souls, of God's protecting hand? No: many that on truth's bright page remain, Shew none e'er found his gracious promise vain; And the experience of his saints can prove, In every age, his constancy of love. When Vengeance, with tremendous aspect, came, And darting forth in awful smoke and flame∗, Bestrew'd Humanity's frail wrecks around, And levell'd mighty cities with the ground;— Few, few in number then the just appear'd, Profanity had high her standard rear'd, And widely spread her empire; yet that few Were sav'd from danger, blest with mercy too. When Israel's tribes inhabited the land Where rude Oppression lifted high her hand, By bondage overwhelm'd, to anguish driven, Their heartfelt plaints and sighs were heard in heaven. Though haughty Pharoah long unmov'd remain'd, And his own impious, stubborn will maintain'd, That King, whom lesser monarchs must obey, Releas'd his people from the tyrant's sway, And by a signal guided them aright, Of cloud by day, of flaming fire by night;

The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrha.

Then bade the rolling waves subjection keep, And op'd a path of safety in the deep. But when the rebel monarch and his crew Essay'd the track of Israel to pursue, They found each effort to proceed was vain, Oppos'd by Him who rul'd the mighty main. The morrow view'd them lifeless on the shore, And Israel fear'd Oppression's power no more. Ah! when the waves of vengeance shall o'erwhelm, And sweep the unrepenting to that realm Where the appointed day of grace is o'er, And saving accents reach the ear no more; Then where shall be the just? Ennobling thought! With stores of richest consolation fraught; Encircl'd by a gracious Saviour's arm, No wrath shall injure them, no power alarm. There is a Fount of healing virtue true, Whose influence even angels never knew, That issu'd from Immanuel's streaming veins, And cleanses from the deepest, guiltiest stains. There is a Mercy, sacred and sublime, That, unconfin'd to party, race, or clime, Prescribes no limits but the bounds of time. She softly smil'd on Calvary's awful brow, And sways with gentle hand her sceptre now. O what unrivall'd majesty and grace, In sweet accordance, beam upon her face! Sinner, would'st thou behold her aspect fair, Look to the Saviour's cross, and find her there. Dost thou desire her soothing strains to hear, Her arms to shelter, and her smiles to cheer, Her hand to guide thee through life's thorny way; Then ope the portal of unclouded day; Receive her boundless blessings while you may. 'Tis hers to bid the mourner's sorrows cease, And pour into his breast the balm of peace. At length, the drops from heaven's high concave ceas'd, And the rude waves progressively decreas'd; Then from the mountain's summit Noah sent A bird of prey, to range the firmament. Ah! vainly did each ardent bosom burn With fond desire to hail thy safe return. Thou faithless herald! whither could'st thou roam, No more to need thy safely sheltering home? How different wast thou from the faithful dove, That gentle type of innocence and love! Sweet messenger! amid the wide expanse, No place of refuge caught thy eye's soft glance; No turf appear'd thy weary feet to rest; Nor mossy spray sustain'd thy downy breast: So quickly to the ark thy wings inclin'd, A scene of soft repose again to find. Few days revolving pass'd their circuits o'er, When thou wast sent to traverse as before. How steady and important was thy tour! Swift thy return, and as thy welcome sure, Did not the olive leaf within thy bill Each heart with grateful exultation fill? How didst thou cause remaining fears to cease, Thou lovely harbinger of truth and peace! But once again in open space set free, Unclouded scenery encompass'd thee; Sweetly serene the breezes round thee play'd, Thy Maker every furious power had stay'd; Had whisper'd silence to the troubled sea, And bid contending winds and waves agree. At his command, the face of Nature wore That smile of harmony it gleam'd before: Yes—when He bade the elements be still, They bow'd, obsequious to his sov'reign will. And now, the steady servant of the Lord, Obedient to the dictates of his word, Prepar'd to leave the ark, that peaceful shade, Which no surrounding danger could invade. How would his mind, in after times, retrace, With ardent gratitude, his Maker's grace; And oft review, in memory's mirror fair, The hand that plac'd—the love that cheer'd him there! END OF PART I. THE DELUGE.PART II.

Noah, after his return into the world, consecrates himself to the Divine Being—Jehovah's condescension and covenant— The rainbow—Constancy of the divine protection—Duty of every human being to devote himself to the service of his Maker—The acceptance of a believer's offering at a Throne of Grace—The instability of all sublunary enjoyments should excite us to seek blessings of an abiding nature—The covenant of grace rendered immutable by the death and resurrection of Christ—Happy state of those interested in it—This should excite perpetual gratitude—The important lessons which the history of the Deluge teaches.

SAY, Pilgrim, traversing this vale of years, Thy narrow pathway oft suffus'd with tears, How oft has danger's rugged form assail'd, And o'er thy vital energies prevail'd? But when a tender friend has hasten'd near, With strains of peace to soothe thy anxious ear, To screen thee safely from each bitter blast, Until the season of alarm had pass'd,— Did not his love thy noblest feelings claim, And kindle in thy breast a grateful flame? 'Twas an almighty, an unequall'd Friend, Whose truth stands firm, whose mercies never end, That sav'd his servant from the awful doom, When ruin'd nature found one common tomb; And bade him, resting on his matchless power, To fear no billow's rage, no tempest's lower. 'Twas He the elemental strife subdu'd, And nature with primeval youth renew'd. By one so highly favour'd, what was given That found acceptance in the court of Heaven? 'Twas but a sacrifice of heartfelt praise, Presented to the Author of his days. Yet soon he saw the humble offering rise From pure Devotion's altar to the skies: Quickly it reach'd th' empyreal regions fair, And found, through faith, a ready welcome there. Noah! thy name, which speaks of solace sweet, Amid the varied sorrows mortals meet, To grateful memory ever should be dear, While smiling Spring her hawthorn wreath shall wear; While Summer's hand shall paint each blooming flower, And rear a throne in every roseate bower; While bounteous Autumn golden stores shall spread, And cheerless Winter shew his hoary head. To thee th' Almighty spake:—'A firm decree, 'Between myself, each living thing, and thee, 'Will I establish.— 'No more a watery vesture shall o'erspread 'The deepen'd vale, the mountain's towering head; 'Seasons successive in their mark'd career 'Shall form the circle of the rolling year; 'Morn shall approach, array'd in vestment bright; 'Noon in full glory, eve in gentler light. 'When showers are seen descending from on high, 'A radiant bow shall glitter in the sky; 'And painted there by my unerring hand, 'Shall a memorial of my mercy stand.' Hail, splendid arch! whene'er thy beauties greet Our eyes, our hearts should glow with rapture sweet. Need we unfold the philosophic page, Or ask instruction from the learned sage? Explore Refraction's and Reflection's laws, To trace from their effects thy wondrous cause? We need not;—for a Volume pure, divine, With Truth's bright impress grav'd in every line, Informs us why thy beauteous form appears, When Nature's face is bath'd in crystal tears. Not that the themes of philosophic page Should not the intellectual powers engage; Nor Nature's numerous laws, that all agree In one vast chain of matchless harmony; Nor Mind, that spark of unexhausted flame, Once spotless, like the source from which it came, Be unexplor'd by man. No: let that gloom, More dreary than the darkness of the tomb— The gloom of Ignorance—fly far away, And Knowledge shed around her choicest ray. Yet clearly Revelation's page declares Why this fair form its varied colours wears. Then let me greet the Rainbow as a sign Of might unequall'd, and of love divine; And as I gaze, O let my thoughts ascend To its great Maker—to my heavenly Friend. Let me behold his glories, and revere, And hold his precepts to my conscience dear. If He protect me through each changing scene, Then danger, in his most terrific mien, Will pass with hasty steps unheeded by; For what shall harm me when my God is nigh? What should the noblest energies engage Of mortals acting on an earthly stage? 'Tis grace unparallel'd, 'tis mercy pure, Our minds to sweet obedience should allure. Each human heart and human tongue should join, To render praises to the Power Divine. Not all the splendid offerings wealth can bring Obtain acceptance from the heavenly King: The highest powers must bow beneath his feet; The meanest may frequent the mercy-seat. And there, if the most abject find a place, His is free pardon, and unbounded grace;— There, if the noblest earthly king disdain To bend, his honours will be spent in vain. No costly offerings, purifi'd with fires, Avail with Him who but the heart requires. This is the only tribute we can give To ONE who died that we might ever live; This all that we can render, yet will meet With kind acceptance, consolation sweet; A voice divine will bid disquiet cease, And yield her empire to celestial peace. Mortality, with ever varying mien, Mortality, imprest on every scene, Bids, with a solemn voice, vain mortals learn Their lasting interest, and their chief concern. Scenes, which the most attractive aspect wear, Alike the irrevocable truth declare,— That earthly charms are merely passing sweet, Early decay, and then grow obsolete; That honour, power, pleasure, beauty, die, And leave vast wrecks of faded vanity. Why then should sacred gifts be set at nought, For joys so transient, yet so dearly bought? That beam to vanish, blossom but to fade, And rise to sink in everlasting shade? Through what a shallow stream our pleasures flow; How fair, frail, fleeting, false, each bliss we know! And is it so? Then should not this excite To seek imperishable, real delight? To seek for mercy, sov'reign, full, and free, For Life, and Light, and Immortality? All, all to which the Christian's soul aspires, Meets in the centre of his vast desires. Streams, more than ample to refresh his flock, Proceed from Christ, that firm, unchanging Rock. Then may I ever, ever to Him cleave, And from his fulness, "grace for grace" receive!" There is a Covenant, in whose name divine Eternal justice, boundless mercy, shine: Ah! how they met in our Redeemer's heart, Embrac'd each other, never more to part, When in the anguish of his parting breath He gain'd a splendid conquest over death! With shrieks convulsive well might Nature shake, Well rocks might rend asunder—mountains quake, When Deity, in human nature, cried, " 'Tis finish'd," and the King of Glory died. But soon the potent Victor captive led Captivity, and on the serpent's head Trod with immortal power; then led the way To spacious mansions of unclouded day. Though seasons in their circling chariots roll In swift progression to their destin'd goal; Though most exalted empires pass away, And proudest fabrics totter to decay; Stamp'd with the impress of the Eternal's will, His gracious covenant proves abiding still, Then happy mortal, whosoe'er thou art, Thrice blessed, if in this thou claim a part. If yet a stranger to the light divine, Though all the wealth of earth could round thee shine, Thou would'st be poor;—ah! poor indeed are they, Whose hopes are bounded by life's chequer'd day; Who view no prospects of unfading bloom Beyond the confines of the dreary tomb. But blest with sov'reign grace, that grant so high, 'Tis peace to live—'tis endless gain to die. Should not a blessing of immortal worth To warmest strains of gratitude give birth? Hail, Gratitude! may thy inspiring flame Arouse my heart, and animate my frame: Nor let me only feel thy powerful sway Within Prosperity's unclouded day. When mercies fall as renovating dews, That life renew, and nourishment diffuse; When screen'd securely from each bitter breeze, We travel through the turfy paths of ease, The highest notes of gratitude should roll, And speak the language of the ardent soul. But when Adversity, with rudest air, Blights the fair flowers we've rear'd with fondest care, And not one wish'd-for relic can we trace Of all their former grandeur, or their grace, (Save that, upon the desolated ground, Perchance few faded, fallen leaves are found) Is there no friend to smile amidst our woes? Do no soft accents whisper of repose? Yes—there's a heavenly Friend, whose voice divine Gently forbids the mourner to repine; Who marks the boundary of Affliction's reign, And beautifies our paths with flowers again. Then is one seed implanted in the breast Worthy of higher culture than the rest, 'Tis Gratitude. O let the Christian strive To keep the small, the hidden germ alive, And not alone to guard the secret shoot, But make it teem with boughs of richest fruit. O may I never with emotions cold The Volume of eternal Truth unfold! May this event∗ my noblest thoughts engage, Replete with warning and instruction sage! Wondrous event! thy faithful records preach;— Shall we be senseless to the truths they teach? They with a simple brevity rehearse Sin's dreadful nature, and abiding curse: Nor terminate they here, but clearly shew All things are open to the boundless view If that great Power with whom we have to do; Shew that one blast of his almighty breath Can quickly crush a spacious world in death; And yet that He (may this my thoughts employ!) Is strong to save as potent to destroy, And loves (O feeling worthy of a God!) To sway the sceptre more than lift the rod; Shew that our fleeting moments, as they pass, Mix with Antiquity's increasing mass; That if the day of grace be spent in vain, A day of awful judgment will remain; That signal mercies from our Maker's hand Signal displays of gratitude demand;

The Deluge.

That Christians should reflect, in lustre bright, The grace imparted from the Source of Light, And in each season, in each action, strive To keep Devotion's sacred flame alive. END OF THE DELUGE. THE FORSAKEN MOTHER TO HER INFANT. Partly translated from Berquin. SLEEP, my babe, thy head reposing On thy hapless mother's breast; While she marks thine eyelids closing, Share the sweets of balmy rest. When thy father's soft addresses Once obtain'd my plighted vow, He appear'd in his caresses Innocent, sweet babe, as thou: Where's each promise, freely given, Of his ceaseless constancy? Ah! to deep despair I'm driven, He forsook his son and me. Sleep, my babe. Yes—abandon'd by thy father, Dupe of unsuspected guile, All the solace I can gather Is afforded by thy smile. Conscious of his empire stealing On my heart, thy father knew All his influence o'er my feeling, And abus'd that influence too. Sleep, my babe. He of each support bereft me, Wander'd from me, far away: Much I lov'd him ere he left me, And I love him e'en to-day. Yes—with him, in every nation, Season of delight and pain,— Lowly or exalted station, My affection shall remain. Sleep, my babe. When on thee I gaze, his image In thy lineaments I trace: Wilt thou speak his flowing language, And unfold his native grace? May'st thou all his charms inherit, All his sweet attractions gain, Copy not his fickle spirit, But his courtesy retain. Sleep, my babe. Cares, that cause my frame to languish, Cannot yet pervade thy breast; Sighs, that speak my inward anguish, Ne'er deprive my babe of rest. Ah! when they whose warm caresses Sooth'd the pangs we us'd to feel, Wear a frown, that frown distresses More than language can reveal. Sleep, my babe. Now no friend with sweet affection Comes to sooth us in distress; Where could I implore protection, Whence could I obtain redress, When thy father left me slighted? Ah! who then my woes could feel? All the grief which he excited, Thou alone hast power to heal. Sleep, my babe. By sweet sympathy's effusion Let us soften every care; Hapless victims of delusion Should each other's sorrows bear. By maternal love directed, I preserve thy infant day; By my arms alone protected, May'st thou be my latest stay. Sleep, my babe. TO A FALLEN LEAF. FAIR leaf, now scatter'd on the plain, And chang'd to russet hue, The moments of thy blooming reign On swiftest pinions flew. Fann'd by the zephyr's balmy wing, Thy beauty grac'd the lap of Spring, And flourish'd in a livelier vest, On fragrant Summer's sunny breast. Now liberal Autumn rears her head, In golden dress array'd: How soon thy vivid hues have fled, And all thy charms decay'd! Stern Winter, with an aspect drear, Will quickly close the fleeting year, And sweep beneath his icy sway The relic of thy form away. Emblem of Life's uncertain hours, That quickly pass away, As pearly dew-drops on the flowers Before the sunny ray. Childhood is but a fairy Spring, That swiftly flies on silent wing; Youth is a Summer, bright and gay, Whose pleasures pass as soon away. Then Age appears with fainter ray, As Autumn's fading bloom; And Winter, with an aspect grey, Soon bends us to the tomb. Then happy, ah! thrice happy they, Who, when all mortal joys decay, Possess a hope beyond the sky To flourish through eternity. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 'TIS past;—the bitter pain, the dying strife, Is now absorb'd in everlasting life. Her toil has ceas'd—her mortal race is run; The conflict's o'er—the prize of faith is won. Impell'd by Nature, friends their loss deplore, But Grace serenely whispers, "Weep no more." Long will her name, by tenderness endear'd, Inscrib'd on memory's tablet, be rever'd. How oft (of sympathy sincere possess'd) My friend essay'd to make the mourner blest, And felt the luxury of pleasing, while She charm'd the cheerful with a willing smile. In her, humility, that heaven-born grace, Preserv'd a uniform, distinguish'd place: Nor was sincerity, with candid mien, In all her works less prominently seen. How clearly all her walk and converse prov'd A Saviour's sacrifice the theme she lov'd! How did the light, to her so freely given, Reflect its radiance on her path to Heaven! Does not her sudden, unexpected call Speak to surviving friends—to each—to all? Ah! yes—in accents powerful, solemn, clear, Thus—thus it vibrates on the listening ear:— Mortals, reflect: the ashes of the dead Are strew'd around the busy ways you tread; And many a monitor exclaims, Prepare— Your kindred dust must shortly mingle there. Survey the boundary of each recent tomb; Unravel there the presage of your doom: Yet while communing with the silent dead, Apply the antidote to Nature's dread; By faith apply Immanuel's saving power, Then calmly wait your own decisive hour. TO AN INFANT SLEEPING. ENCIRCL'D in the arms of rest, Sleep, lovely infant, sleep: No inward care disturbs thy breast, To bid thee wake and weep. A father's eyes thy features trace, With pure, unmix'd delight; A mother views thy artless face, Enraptur'd at the sight. Celestial peace around thee gleams With an unclouded ray; Affection sheds her softest beams To gild thy infant-day. But if thy life be lengthen'd yet, Till few short years are o'er, The sun of infancy must set— Must set to rise no more. And what will follow? That must still Remain unknown to me Which bounteous Providence doth will, Sweet babe, respecting thee. Fain would I wish (my verse though rude) That ne'er one falling tear May stain thy cheek, save when bedew'd By sympathy sincere. But, wand'ring in a world of care, Who is from sorrow free? Then would I breathe a kinder prayer, Sweet innocent, for thee. Then be thy fortune smooth or hard, Thy passage rough or fair, May Mercy ever be thy guard, And shield thee by her care. O may her hand direct thine helm Through life's uncertain sea, And guide thee to the peaceful realm Of immortality. When thou art summon'd to resign To Him who gave thee breath Thy life, may'st thou, through grace divine, With calmness welcome death. REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. FROM syren vanities, and ideal bliss, From fancied pleasures, eagerly pursu'd By senseless mortals, I retire to muse Upon a solemn, a terrific theme. Tremendous Death! how potent is thy sway! Dissolving through each moment's narrow space Some sweet connection, some endearing tie. Who can portray that last, eventful hour, When thy rude arrows pierce the sinner's frame? How conscience rises, and how nature shrinks! Ah! who can justly paint the o'erpowering scene? None but the dying know what 'tis to die. Dread victor! Is there nought that can divest Thy form replete with horrors of its awe? Yes—there's a Sun whose vivifying beams Chase the thick clouds encompassing thy brow, And gild the passage through the dreary shade. Thou the last enemy, the strongest foe, Art vanquish'd by this Source of Light and Life. Thou canst dissolve the fragile tenement, But its grand inmate must survive thy wreck. And though, consigned to parent earth, the clay Crumbles beneath thy devastating touch, Its scatter'd particles will be recall'd By His almighty voice who bade it first To wear an animated form: again, Obedient to his mandate, 'twill arise, And, rob'd in dignity, no more be deem'd Too mean to share the triumphs of the soul, Where Death's dread empire shall be known no more. SONNET TO THE MOON. WHEN night extends her sable veil O'er nature's lately smiling face, Pale Cynthia tells the woods her tale, And beams with unobtrusive grace. Fair teacher, I would e'er observe The wisdom which thy lessons give; Like thee, would ne'er from duty swerve, Like thee, in sweet obedience live. Like thee, in modest meekness shine, That vesture of celestial hue, Nor wander from the steady line Prescrib'd for Christians to pursue. For in forbidden steps our joys must cease, But in the path of rectitude is peace. TO MY FATHER, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. AURORA rises from the radiant east With blushing mien, and beaming grace; Soft gentle zephyrs breathe upon her breast, And crystal dew-drops sparkle on her face. With more than wonted joy I greet her sway, Who wakes to light and life the sleeping earth, Since she renews once more the happy day That gave a dear, beloved father birth. The thousand sweet emotions which I feel Of willing love, and anxious tenderness, Which o'er my heart with growing ardour steal, Words are too faint, too feeble to express. Be thine each bliss an earthly state can know, My parent ever honour'd, ever dear; And may unbounded joys serenely flow, To make thee blest through each successive year. May peace attend thy path while here below, Smooth every care, and soften every pain, Attend thee through this pilgrimage of woe To scenes where joys unmingled ever reign. O may we meet where grief is known no more, (Parents and children in the realms on high) Where every separating pang is o'er, And Faith and Hope in full fruition die. WRITTEN ON VISITING FORMERSCENES. SCENES of my childhood! where are now Your former powers to please— When pleasure bloom'd on ev'ry bough, And breath'd in every breeze? Arose with ev'ry dawning day, Nor set but with its parting ray. No daisies now upon the green Bestrew its surface o'er: The charms which once were felt and seen, Are felt and seen no more. Some objects were an alter'd mien,— Some are as though they ne'er had been. Yet many pleasing views remain In memory's faithful glass, Nor as illusions fleet and vain She suffers them to pass: Engraven by her steady hand, In lasting characters they stand. Here first I read the sacred page, Replete with heavenly lore: Instruction with her precepts sage Engaging aspect wore. Here first the seeds of truth divine Were sown within this breast of mine. Follow'd by many an earnest prayer, They sprang with silent pace; Nurtur'd by many a tender care, Refresh'd by showers of grace, They grew, and by their progress stay'd The baneful weeds by sin display'd. They grew;—and are they yet alive? O may they flourish fair, And through immortal ages thrive Amidst celestial air! Nor can these scenes indifferent be, Wherein such mercy flow'd to me. ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A FRIEND. WHEN loudly summon'd by the voice of death, Reluctant nature yields her feeble powers, The soul, by grace renew'd, from sin releas'd, Enters an everlasting home, while throngs Angelic welcome its arrival there. But stay, my hand,—nor dare essay to shew What frail mortality can ne'er conceive, The endless glories of a world unseen, When this corruptible shall be dissolv'd, And cloth'd with immortality divine. He ("for I know not yet his name in Heaven") Abruptly seiz'd from every social tie, Swiftly, yet sweetly yielded to the stroke, And scarcely felt the cold embrace of death. Oft will remembrance wander near his grave, To strew affection's fragrant roses there, And with a tear bedew the lowly bed. O mortal! learn a lesson from the tomb, Prepare to meet thy God, and seek by faith An interest in that redeeming blood Which cleanses from the deepest stains of sin. What can sustain her mind who now bereft Of the lov'd partner of her joys and woes, Perceives a blank which time can ne'er repair? O may she be upheld by power divine, And taught to yield serenely to his will, Who from his nature cannot, will not err! O may his Spirit sooth her troubled soul, Till she shall soar through disembodied space, And breathe celestial air,—till she shall mount On wings of ecstacy to yonder skies, And there behold the glories of her home, Where kindred spirits re-unite, no more By death's resistless hand to be disjoin'd! What bright transitions from these nether scenes! There shall each ardent hope be realiz'd, Each fond desire fulfill'd in perfect bliss; There myriads sing their great Redeemer's praise, Who died—then rose—now lives for evermore. ON FINDING A BIRD'S NEST. FORM'D by nature's wise direction, Yet the workmanship of art; Soft retreat, where pure affection Issues from a parent's heart! Here she guards her tender treasure, Soothes her little charge to rest; While alternate care and pleasure Take possession of her breast. Cease to fear, no cruel stranger, Little warblers, wanders near; Sweetly rest, remote from danger, And dispel your needless fear. Shall I rend your breasts with anguish, Make your parent's bosom bleed, Cause her watchful frame to languish? No—my soul abhors the deed. Live, and share the tranquil pleasure Innocency e'er bestows: Happiness, that sacred treasure, From her soft embraces flows. Live, regardless of tomorrow, By your Maker's bounty blest; Live, unruffled by that sorrow Which disturbs the guilty breast. When the morn, with smiles advancing, Shews the infant face of day; When the even, slowly glancing, Spreads her canopy of grey; To the bounteous Source of Nature Let your warblings be addrest; To that merciful Creator, Whose rich blessings make you blest. ON THE ERECTION OF A SUMMER HOUSE NEAR TWO COTTAGES. HAIL, sweet recess, where rustic charms unite To yield unruffled pleasure and delight! How soft thy shade, with mossy verdure crown'd, While earth's green bosom teems with life around! The interweaving of each pendant bough Form'd a fair chaplet for thy arching brow. Far, far retir'd from fashion's splendid blaze, And vain ambition's intricated maze, Sweet peace, rare visitant at courts of kings, Spreads o'er this calm retreat her shady wings. Here rural pleasure beams, a sportive guest, And sheds her softest sunshine in the breast: Her sweet allurements ne'er mislead the mind; Her pure enjoyments leave no sting behind. Yet nature flourish'd here in wildest vest, No cottage smil'd to make the peasant blest, Nor shady seat to bid the wand'rer rest, Till art and industry combin'd, and wrought A peaceful scene to cherish peaceful thought. So is the mind by nature chok'd with weeds, Vice after vice (a hideous train) succeeds, Till cultivation, with her vigorous powers, Roots out the poisonous weeds, and places flowers. Scatters the seeds of truth in mental soil, Then a rich harvest crowns the labouring toil. ON HOPE. THERE is a gentle Hope which strews The infant's path with flowers; A Hope that opens distant views Of future happy hours. There is a Hope that beams around. The youth's aspiring head, Confin'd within no narrow bound, With no dark clouds o'erspread. There is a Hope when Age imprints His furrows on the face; A Hope that gleams with cheerful tints, And sheds a soften'd grace. There is a Hope, when sickness chills The brow, that pours a balm; An animating Hope, which fills The saint with holy calm. There is a Hope when nature's powers Fast hasten to decay; A Hope that points to brighter hours, To everlasting day. There is a Hope that gilds the gloom E'en when the Christian dies, And says, 'He is not in the tomb— Behold him in the skies!' ON VISITING THE SCHOOL FOR THE BLIND, LIVERPOOL. WHAT peaceful fabric greets my sight? What soften'd strains salute my ear, And varied harmonies invite My willing soul to linger here? I hear the sweetly plaintive cries Of those, enwrapt in constant night; Those to whom nature's hand denies Her noblest gift—the sacred light. They ne'er behold the blaze of noon Descending from the Fount of Light; Nor ever greet the silver moon, Whose beams illume the breast of night. They never view the fragrant rose Expanding to the balmy gale, Nor varied beauties that disclose In sylvan scene, or leafy vale. Yet Safety spreads her shady wings, And useful, pleasing toils are given To those who touch the warbling strings, And sweetly sing the joys of Heaven. Then, stranger, though enwrapt in gloom, Forbear to weep;—may Truth divine With holy rays thy mind illume, And lasting glory shall be thine. There is a state, though not unroll'd To frail mortality's dull view, Of bliss, by finite tongue untold, Where all is rapture, all is new. Be this thy portion, this thy joy, Within a realm unknown to care, Where sin shall ne'er thy peace destroy, Nor night nor darkness shall be there. "JESUS WEPT."John xi. 35. THE Saviour wept—his pitying eye Teem'd with the dew of sympathy; He wept—the tear soft pity drew Had healing power, and virtue true. The Saviour wept—the gentle trace Of sorrow's offspring mark'd his face: All that was holy, meek, and fair, Center'd in soft assemblage there. The Saviour wept—proud Man, be still— Oft, oft hast thou transgress'd his will; He wept—and shall the Saviour mourn, Nor thy rebellious heart be torn? The Saviour wept—let saints rejoice, Let harmony attune each voice: That tear bespoke a sov'reign charm. In Him to quell each rude alarm. The Saviour wept—his saving grace Can ev'ry stain of sin efface: May that abundant grace be shewn Where'er transgression's name is known! ON SEEING SEVERAL INFANTS BAP-TIZED BY THE REV. J. J. FREEMAN. HOW full and free the love that glow'd In Jesu's gentle breast, And in the softest accents flow'd, Diffusing sacred rest! How was his holy bosom fraught With meek, persuasive charms, When with benignant smiles he caught Sweet infants in his arms! Obedient to his kind command, See Christian parents bring Their offspring with a willing hand To their Almighty King. Dear Saviour, be these children thine, If spar'd, from infancy; The subjects of that grace divine, The grace which flows from Thee! Thus consecrated to the Lord, Soon may they know his name; Be faithful to his sacred word, True followers of the Lamb! TO MY ELDER BROTHER, ON HIS BIRTH DAY. DEAR brother, on this welcome day, Fain would I dedicate a lay, Replete with powers sublime, To thee; but though no muses deign To harmonize this humble strain, Affection prompts the rhyme. O may'st thou, 'tis my earnest prayer, My ardent hope, and constant care, Be made divinely wise! How faintly these rude lines express The wishes for thy happiness That from my bosom rise! Should Fortune crown thee with her smiles, Let not her smooth, enchanting wiles Allure thy feet astray; Let not her charms thy soul ensnare, 'Tis sweeter far to travel where Our duty points the way. But should thy days, immers'd in woe, Through a tempestuous channel flow In life's uncertain sea, May sacred Hope thy fears subdue, And heavenly prospects greet thy view, To cheer the darkest day! O look beyond this vale of tears, Where, if a smile of joy appears, 'Tis follow'd by a sigh: May grace divine thy soul prepare To exchange a world of sin and care For endless bliss on high! ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. FAIR Floweret, rear'd by soft affection's hand To bloom for ever in a happier land, How early shelter'd from the storms that rise Within the confines of inclement skies! In tender mercy all thy charms were given, In tender mercy all remov'd to Heaven, Where glories, purchas'd by a meed divine, Immanuel's boundless love, around thee shine. Ah! Baby! oft refin'd, maternal love Towards thee with firmest constancy would move; Clasp thy dear form in many a soft embrace, And kindle joy's pure gleam upon thy face; Would fondly hope to see fair Piety Diffuse within thy breast her fragrancy; But now that animating hope is o'er, Nor gilds the beautiful prospective more. No more thy father's ardent eyes shall trace His faithful mirror in thine infant face, Nor view with all a father's tender care The dawn of reason sweetly opening there. But stay, my hand! Does no kind solace flow? No consolation stem the tide of woe? There is, there is a sovereign power to bless Beyond the force of language to express: 'Tis power divine—this can alone impart An antidote to heal the bleeding heart; Alone administer effective balm, Alone produce sweet resignation's calm. Oh! ye fond parents, whose young fair desire Is early snatch'd away, but not in ire, May this ascendant, this almighty power, Sustain your souls through each afflictive hour! Then will you welcome all your Father's will, And own it stamp'd with love's bright signet still. WHAT IS LIFE. WHAT is Life? A feeble taper, Beaming with illusive ray: What is Life? An empty vapour, Quickly vanishing away. What is Life? A transient bubble, Swiftly bursting in the air: What is Life? A day of trouble, Sin and sorrow, pain and care. What is Life? A drama acted On Time's transitory stage: What is Life? A scene protracted But from infancy to age. What is Life? A swift advancing Towards the impending stroke of fate: What is Life? A twilight glancing Of an everlasting state. 'Tis the season of probation, Which may close with every breath; 'Tis the time to seek salvation; 'Tis the Christian's hope in death. HYMN FOR EVENING. AUTHOR of every perfect gift, To Thee my heart and voice I lift, To praise Thee for thy ceaseless care, And all thy goodness to declare. Thy mercy, with benignant ray, Has cheer'd each moment of the day, And now, by thy protection blest, My weary frame may safely rest. With self-abasement, Lord, I pray, Forgive my secret faults this day; Preserve me through the midnight hours, And sooth with sleep my drowsy powers. My mind yet darken'd is by sin, Great Saviour! chase its clouds within; O set me from its influence free, And lead my wandering soul to Thee. Prepare me for that solemn change, That awful moment new and strange, When passing through death's gloomy vale, The strongest mortal powers must fail. Be with me in the parting hour, Then, cheer'd by thy supporting power, My soul shall burst her bonds of clay, And soar to everlasting day. TO A CHILD FOUR YEARS OLD. HAIL! little blue-ey'd maiden! Whose artless smiles declare A bosom never laden With sorrow or with care: Replete with animation, Thy active footsteps bound O'er Flora's gay plantation, The garden's cultur'd round. What gleams of heartfelt pleasure My eyes enraptur'd trace, Abounding without measure Within thy rosy face! Ah! who would cloud the morning Of being's chequer'd day, Or pluck the flowers adorning The infant's early way. Prompted by ardent feeling, Fain would I stretch my gaze Beyond the veil concealing Thy future rising days: How vain the fond desire! Yet many a prayer for thee Shall to His throne aspire Who fills immensity. He, at whose word, Creation At once began to be, Rob'd in humiliation, Invited babes like thee. O may'st thou seek his favour, Behold his smiling face, And taste the richest savour Of his abounding grace! Then when thy frame shall languish, And scenes of time recede, Thy soul shall know no anguish, From sin's rude bondage freed, But wing her flight to regions Whose glories ne'er decay, And join angelic legions In one immortal day. TO A FRIEND, AT PARTING. WE part—but in my listening ear Hope pours her fervent, soothing strain; She says, 'Repress the rising tear, You part, but part to meet again.' The gentle mandate I obey, And wipe the dew-drop from my cheek; My bursting sorrows I allay, And in serener accents speak. Yet, to those hours of fond delight, When varied, social pleasures met, To bid farewell, must, will excite Some feelings of unfeign'd regret. May guardian powers their wings display, Still to protect and shelter thee, And in thy life's uncertain way, My friend, oft pause, and think on me. For oft I'll leave my cares behind, While memory's pencil shall retrace The beauties of thy well-stor'd mind, The features of thy well-known face. To share thy love I still aspire, When lone and distant far from thee; This, and this only I desire, For my unshaken constancy. Some say that "friendship is a name," But we have prov'd her influence true, Pure as Aurora's opening beam, Reviving as the early dew. O may her gentle hand still strew With fragrant flowers our earthly way, Till prospects open to our view, Whose glory never shall decay. TO MY PUPILS. HAIL, little group! whose smiles declare Your youthful minds devoid of care, Fain would I strew your early way With many a floweret fresh and gay. How pleas'd at smiling morn I greet The echo of your willing feet! How gladly hither you repair, The objects of my daily care! And care for you indeed I feel, More than my language can reveal: But O, my children! to behold Your active mental powers unfold, Might wake a far less ardent breast Than mine, to rapture unrepress'd; Awake in far less watchful eyes The glow of heartfelt ecstacies. 'Tis now the morn of life with you, Nor clouds obscure its rosy hue: But can a mortal tongue declare The colours which the day may wear? Be the succession what it may, A sunny or a cloudy day, Thus far we know—you onward bend, And hourly hasten to its end. There is a house, to which repair The grave—the gay—the rude—the fair,— Compress'd within a narrow bound, Where neither rank nor name is found; And here, my dears, must soon repose Our earthly hopes, fears, joys, and woes. Should Providence this house decree To be first tenanted by me, Ah! will you then reflect that one Her short, her earthly course has run, Whose accents caught your listening ears, Who tried to chase your groundless fears, And many an effort would repeat To make the path of science sweet? Will you, my children, pause, and learn What ought to be your chief concern? But should the painful task be mine To see your early bloom decline; (Ah! painful task, indeed, to view Pale sickness chill health's rosy hue!) Should I behold stern death convey Your vigorous frames to dust away, Say, will the happiness be mine, Which I had almost call'd divine, To think your latest actions prov'd That wisdom was the theme you lov'd; To think you sought in smiling youth That noblest treasure, heavenly truth; To think you shar'd a Saviour's love, And plac'd your hearts on joys above,— Possess'd in nature's sure decay, A certain hope of endless day, A hope that could not fade away. DAY.In Imitation of "Night," by Montgomery. DAY is the time to rise: Awak'd from visions fair, That oft beguile our slumbering eyes When Nature's features wear A sombre shade, and sweetly rest Her children on her spacious breast. Day is the time for toil, To press with ardent pace; Nor must our weary feet recoil E'en from a rugged race: All who the Victor's crown obtain, Must share the Victor's toil and pain. Day is the time to weep O'er scenes of want and woe, Where Care imprints her traces deep, And tears of anguish flow: What mind susceptive can remain Unmov'd by poverty and pain? Day is the time to watch, For ah! He only knows If we its parting rays may catch, And view its silent close, Who sees at one immense survey The boundary of life's chequer'd day. Day is the time to sigh O'er many an hour mispent, That swiftly fled unheeded by, Yet warn'd us as it went To read upon its flickering wings The brevity of earthly things. Day is the time to read Fair Nature's volume o'er; Our ever ardent minds to feed From that exhaustless store, And on each ample page to see The impress of a Deity. Day is the time to search The Records of His will, Whose ceaseless power defends his church From each impending ill; Who shields her in his circling arms From Satan's wiles, and sin's alarms. Day is the time to pray: When secret snares combine To lure our roving feet astray, From duty's steady line, A guide we need to urge, restrain; And prayer ne'er seeks a guide in vain. Day is the time to praise: Wisdom in varied forms Directs us in life's devious ways, And shelters in its storms. Who has retrac'd the paths he trod, Nor own'd the wisdom of a God? Day is the time for death, For ere the night of age What thousands yield their vital breath, And quit this transient stage! Then let it be our early care, Through grace, for glory to prepare. REFLECTIONS IN A CHURCH-YARD. WHILE thoughtless crowds forsake the solemn shade Around humanity's long, last abode, And fear to turn by contemplation's aid From earth's illusive vanities to God, I would retire 'midst scenes like these, to muse Where silence and serenity prevail; Mortality's wide records to peruse, And learn that life's a vapour, or a tale. 'Tis hallow'd ground—for many slumber here Still, still beheld by memory's faithful eyes, While Hope exclaims, and wipes the falling tear, 'They rest, in immortality to rise.' 'Tis thine, O Death! to close the brightest eyes— Divest the healthiest cheek of all its bloom; Thine to disjoin the most endearing ties, And shroud the fairest objects in the tomb. Yet not unbounded is thy dreaded might, For even thou art subject to his sway Whose majesty invests the sable night, Whose brighter glory gilds the face of day. His hand preserves and guides when tempests lower, Through earth's innum'rous windings dark and rude; Nor will He leave his children in the hour Of Nature's strangest, last vicissitude. When at the mandate of the King of kings The ransom'd spirit quits her cell of clay, She quickly soars on disencumber'd wings, To the bright regions of unclouded day. Then, Christian mourner, raise thy drooping head, Nor sink beneath thy mighty weight of woe; Weep not thy lov'd, departed friends as dead, Who live where boundless joys for ever flow. "BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR,AND KNOCK." PAUSE, sinner;—view the King of kings Knock at thy heart's unwelcome door: A robe of righteousness he brings, A feast from Heaven's abundant store. He sees thee worthless, weak, and vile, And waits thy soul to clothe and feed: Let sin no more that soul beguile, To be regardless of its need. He stands;—what condescension here! Does Unbelief still bar thy breast? And is a King of Glory near? Open—receive the royal guest. Oft, oft his ever-gracious voice Has earnest invitations given; Said, Make the narrow way thy choice, And be a citizen of Heaven. Ye who have humbly op'd the door, Oft with a mighty Saviour dwell, Who died—but lives for evermore, And hath the keys of death and hell. Your names within the Book of Life Inscrib'd by the Eternal Hand, In spite of sin and Satan's strife Must on its lasting pages stand. Stand? Yes—each saint's exalted name In lines immortal will be read, E'en when the amplest rolls of fame Shall o'er earth's funeral pile be spread. TO THE MEMORY OF T— L—. FAIN would my verse a humble tribute pay To him whose memory triumphs o'er decay; Who in the golden days of active youth Attain'd the knowledge of celestial truth. O had his hopes been bounded by his years, What hand could wipe the sad survivor's tears? When sickness turn'd his blooming features pale, And caus'd his wonted energies to fail, Those sacred hopes dispers'd the thickest gloom Attendant on the passage to the tomb. Yes—all is well: fond Nature's law requires The weeping eye, yet Faith the soul inspires; Directs to Heaven, and says, 'The warfare's o'er— The crown obtain'd—his patience prov'd no more; Weep not his exit from the scenes of time; He died to live in yon immortal clime.' Now would my pen with faithfulness reveal His soft affection, unobtrusive zeal; The undissembled kindness which impress'd Her laws upon the tablet of his breast; His friendship firm, with candour e'er combin'd, Complacency of manners, taste refin'd; His pleasantry, which never gave offence E'en to the mind possess'd of keenest sense; His firm, consistent piety, which wore A modest garb, a heavenly impress bore. But could he view me from the world of light, Methinks he'd say, O cease my praise to write: When first my mother clasp'd me in her arms, She held an infant with no sinless charms; Impure by nature, soon by vice enslav'd, Through mercy only I was sought and sav'd. Be all the glory His whose love restor'd What sin had lost—be He alone ador'd. May those dear friends who watch'd my lifeless face, Some semblance of my former self to trace, Ere to the dust my wasted frame they gave, Repose on Him who triumph'd o'er the grave: Then shall we re-unite in realms above, 'Midst everlasting light, and boundless love. SONNET TO FRIENDSHIP. FRIENDSHIP! in thee the noblest powers, The purest sentiments combine; I'd cull a wreath of fairest flowers, Around thy sacred brow to twine. Thy hand extracts the thorn of care, And wipes away the drops of grief; Thy voice addresses pale despair In potent accents of relief. Yes—thou art sent to sooth the breast By Him who form'd the spacious earth, Of heavenly origin confess'd, And counterfeits enhance thy worth. Still may thy gentle smiles my hours illume, Be mine on earth—be mine beyond the tomb! THE PASTOR. HOW sweet the hallow'd strains of him whose powers Are consecrated to his Master's work! Whose aim is to allure the listless soul By setting forth the "Fairest of the fair;" Who with the solemn voice of warning strives To stay the bold blasphemer's mad career, And with the noblest feelings of delight Points the convicted sinner to the cross, And bids him leave his ponderous weight of guilt Beneath its shade;—who bids the wanderer's feet Retrace, without delay, forbidden steps, Until the path of life again be found; Who cheers the youthful pilgrim with a smile, And bids the aged saint more firmly build On that tried basis, that sure Corner Stone, Which never can be shaken, e'en though hosts Of hellish legions strive to undermine. O while the Pastor urges on his way Thro' thorny paths, or climbs the rugged steep, Where dangers threaten, and where death alarms, Let Christians with incessant zeal unite To bear his burden, and to smooth the road! And when he verges towards the darksome vale, Which must be traversed, ere the Pilgrim's feet Enter the gate of everlasting bliss, O may the brightest beams of sacred hope Illume his path to immortality! THE GAMESTER. VIEW yon pale victim of despair and shame, As on a wretched couch of straw he lies; Behold his furrow'd face, his trembling frame, Behold the frenzy flashing from his eyes. A peaceful, happy home he once possess'd, A stranger then to want, ambition, fear, He clasp'd a smiling infant to his breast, Sweet image of the one he held must dear. But Fashion's baneful influence o'er him stole: She first allur'd him on without alarm; Absorb'd the noblest feelings of his soul, Then bound him fast by her delusive charm. Then by a fiercer, mightier impulse driven, He soon became the spectacle you see, Without a refuge in the World or Heaven, Involv'd in deepest shades of misery. No tender friend arrives to whisper peace, No kindly rays his dark abode illume, Nor Hope appears to bid his sorrows cease, And tell him Joy her empire will resume. For she whose hand once strew'd his path with flowers, Consum'd by grief, lies near yon turfy bed; And the sweet infant, wont to cheer his hours, Upon a stranger's breast reclines his head. See! from the poisonous cup he drinks;—'tis done! Impenetrable mists around him rise: What awful clouds obscure his setting sun! A wretched suicide—alas! he dies! FAREWELL. FAREWELL! perchance no other sound Within the scope of language found Is utter'd more sincere: Yet cloudy seasons call it forth, And mingled feelings give it birth, Affection, hope, and fear. 'Tis read within the trembling eye, 'Tis echo'd in the rising sigh,— Felt in the aching heart, When tender friends are call'd away Till some uncertain, distant day— When forc'd, alas! to part. But there's a state in which the word Farewell nor is nor can be heard, Except to griefs and pains; Where spirits in perfection dwell, And of unequall'd mercy tell In everlasting strains. TO A REDBREAST. SWEET bird! whose wildly warbling song Can cheer the wintry day, Most social of the feather'd throng, Still pour thy welcome lay. Though Nature now with frozen hands Denies a scanty fare, To me present thy small demands, And banish every care. Nor from my garden's precincts rove Until the smiling Spring, To robe each mountain, plain, and grove, Her verdant vest shall bring. Then seek again the budding spray With all the woodland train, And pour anew thy grateful lay Where rural pleasures reign. ANGELS. YE radiant "Morning Stars," ye "Sons of Light," To scenes terrestrial do ye bend your flight, And waft to Heaven the music of those sighs That from the penitential bosom rise? Say, do ye not frequent Life's devious ways The humble sufferer's drooping heart to raise? My fancy whispers 'Yes,'—and were it she Alone that spoke, the voice were sweet to me. Once when from heavenly heights to earth ye sprang, Unequall'd glory, peerless grace, ye sang; Directed shepherds to that sacred star, Which glow'd with living lustre from afar. O if a finite being may surmise Emotions which in angels' breasts arise, Methinks ye'd linger long on Judah's plain Before ye wing'd your flight to Heaven again. Ye saw Messiah in the desert rude, Where Satan boldly ventur'd to intrude,— Ye saw Him unresisting—unsubdu'd. 'Twas one of ye descended from the sky To strengthen Him in bitter agony. When tomb'd in earth the great Redeemer lay, Another of your train, in white array, Sought the dark cave, and roll'd the stone away, To clear a passage for th' ascending God, Who crush'd the powers of darkness as he trod. The noble honour to your race was given To grace his splendid entry into Heaven. And when in glory's sacred garb array'd, He (once enshrouded in Death's sable shade) Shall re-appear, by whom all worlds are sway'd, Angelic legions shall compose his train, And hear Him summon life from dust again. "SHE SWEETLY SMILED." SHE sweetly smil'd in infant play, Her velvet cheek with beauty glow'd, And undisturb'd around her way The stream of pleasure gently flow'd; Reflecting from its wavy breast Bright scenes, in varied colours drest. She sweetly smil'd in youthful grace, When beat her heart with rapture warm; Ere sorrow's hand had left a trace Upon her more than lovely form; When Hope, o'er all the scenes she drew, A robe of soft enchantment threw. She sweetly smil'd one early hour, Array'd in purest, bridal vest; Fair virtue was her richest dower, In unaffected charms exprest: Her recompense, a faithful heart, Devoid of apathy and art. She sweetly smil'd amidst the storm That swept her earthly hopes away; For Resignation's heavenly form Beside her stood in meek array, To calm the sigh, to wipe the tear, 'Midst darken'd scenes, and prospects drear. She sweetly smil'd with soften'd grace When Sickness with rude grasp appear'd, And pluck'd the roses from her face, Which Nature's hand had fondly rear'd; She sweetly smil'd, then softly slept, While Beauty o'er her watch'd, and wept. THE CAPTIVES.Psalm 137. BESIDE the streams that water'd Babel's plains, Suffus'd in grief, we breath'd our plaintive strains: Our harps, upon the waving willows hung, To sacred harmony no more were strung. Exil'd from Zion, yet to Zion true, We thought on brighter days, and wept anew. At length, with hearts and lips for insult fram'd, Each enemy exultingly exclaim'd— Children of Solyma, repress your woe, Your sighs be hush'd—your tears forget to flow: Why should regret so keen your peace destroy? Come, tune your lyres again to notes of joy. What! we indignantly replied, demand A song of Zion in a captive land? Destin'd to bow beneath oppression's chain, How can our feelings prompt a cheerful strain? Jerusalem! my home of joy and rest, Should aught efface thy image from my breast, O may my active hands unnerv'd become, My frame be motionless, my voice be dumb! Earth's purest joys may not compare with thine, Whose name shall still around my heart entwine. Proud Babylon! behold thy dreadful doom! For thou shalt see a strong avenger come, The ills of Zion's children to repay, And crush thy crown beneath his mightier sway. THE HERMIT'S INVITATION. COME, gentle stranger, hither turn, Where no tumultuous cares intrude; Come, pause a moment here, and learn The real joys of solitude. Far from Ambition's haughty towers, With calm Content 'tis mine to dwell; Remote from Fashion's ruling powers, I love my solitary cell. Th' envenom'd shafts from Envy's bow, Can ne'er my peaceful breast invade: What is my fear, and who my foe? Or whensoe'er my trust betray'd? O stranger, disregard the strain Of Dissipation's syren tongue: Her fairest promises are vain;— How oft their funeral knell is rung! A thousand secret snares are laid To lure the unsuspecting feet; Avoid them—seek the lonely shade, And learn that "solitude is sweet." ANSWER TO THE HERMIT'S INVITATION. THOU wise and venerable sage, Whose reverend head is blanch'd with age, I've listen'd to the moral lay Sung in the evening of thy day. Though far from proud Ambition's towers, 'Tis thine to pass the circling hours, Nor is thy calm, retiring soul The slave of Fashion's vain control;— Though Envy ne'er assail thy breast, That restless and obtrusive guest, Nor is thy confidence betray'd By Fraud, in Truth's fair garb array'd;— Yet when Disease directs her aim At thy enfeebled, mortal frame, Whose friendly hands support thy head, And smooth Affliction's rugged bed? Ah! then no tender friends appear With sympathy thy soul to cheer; No gentle smiles the gloom dispel, And light a lustre round thy cell. Could all my days serenely glide In an unchanging, even tide, I'd rather stem Life's stormy wave Than be the inmate of a cave. ON THE DEATH OF MISS JANE TAYLOR, Authoress of "Display," &c. &c. SWEET songstress, thou hast wing'd thy flight To regions of unsullied light, Where no rude band e'er plucks the flowers, That bloom in amaranthine bowers. Fond Nature, thy preceptress, smil'd On thee, her simple, ardent child, Inspir'd thy soul with zeal to trace Her grandeur, gentleness, and grace. The flowing stream, the flowery dell, The woodland shade, the mossy cell, Were sought, belov'd, and sung by thee In humble, heartfelt minstrelsy. Yet nobler, more exalted themes Than gild the Poet's wand'ring dreams, Call'd forth the music of thy lyre, Awak'd thy bosom's native fire. Oft did thy smoothly flowing verse The charms of piety rehearse, To thee, invested with a dress Of unaffected loveliness. She fondly mark'd thee as her own; 'Twas thine to make her glories known; She shed with a benign control Her sabbath lustre o'er thy soul. And yet, thy later pathway here Was moisten'd with Affliction's tear; But thou hast pass'd Death's dreary shade,— Thou liv'st where glories never fade. PITY. HAIL! loveliest offspring of celestial birth, So kindly sent to cheer the sons of earth! O let his name whose senseless, torpid soul Ne'er yielded to thy soft, thy sweet control, Far, far beyond the abodes of man be driven, And to Oblivion's reckless grasp be given. Lov'd maid! I oft have watch'd thy steady pace, While modest blushes mantled o'er thy face, And seen thee haste to raise the drooping head, Whither lone Poverty had turf'd her shed; Yes—haste, regardless of the wintry gale, To list to Misery's o'erwhelming tale; To bend around the rugged couch of care, And whisper consolation to despair. When I beheld thee meet upon the wild A hapless sojourner, Misfortune's child, And saw within thy eyes the pearly tears, Before his plaintive accents reach'd thy ears, I wish'd thy hallow'd influence might inspire My wondering heart, and wake my warbling lyre. Though Dissipation's syren voice beguile, And prompt the heartless, the unmeaning smile; And still her senseless votaries invite To what they falsely estimate delight; Yet Pity, pure, persuasive power, prevail Upon my heart to bless when blessings fail. O let me know that bliss beneath the skies Of staying Sorrow's sad, successive sighs, And brightening pale Affliction's languid eyes; And ne'er may Apathy's cold hand repress My heart's sincere desire to sooth distress. INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMB-STONE, (Which records the Death of Four Infants). PAUSE, Sensibility, and weep, Thy softest dew-drops shed: The wrecks of infant beauty sleep Beneath this turfy bed. Ah! who can read the transient date To early sweetness given, Nor mourn these flowerets' faded state? But stay—they bloom in Heaven. For 'twas from scenes of pain and toil They were convey'd away, To flourish in a kinder soil, Amidst eternal day. There no mortality appears Their beauties to destroy: Then sensibility's soft tears Should here be tears of joy. TO THE EVENING STAR. WELCOME, in modest light array'd, Thou earliest of the starry train, Emerging from surrounding shade To brighten Eve's returning reign. Celestial gem, with beauty fraught, 'Tis thine in this unruffled hour To wake a tender train of thought, And nurse Reflection's hallow'd power. Enthron'd within an airy car, Content awhile from earth to part, Fain would my Fancy traverse far To learn more clearly what thou art. But vain the wish—for Fancy proves A roving, a capricious guide, And oft the light of Truth removes A boundless distance from her side. Then let me view thy gentle gleams As emblems of Affection's power, Who sheds abroad her softest beams To sooth Affliction's darkest hour. The scene with verdure mantled o'er Devoid of her must cheerless prove; The desert's face is drear no more, If brighten'd by the smiles of love. "I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE." John xiv. 6. THOU art the Way—the only way That leads to never-ending day, And any track remote from this Can never be a path to bliss. Thou art the Truth—though when on earth The subject of a lowly birth; What truth in all thy doctrine glow'd, And from thy words divinely flow'd! Thou art the Life—the source that teems With pure, exhaustless, healing streams: O may my soul imbibe from Thee The essence of felicity! THE DREAM. CONVEY'D in Sleep's soft arms to fairy bowers, I gaz'd on golden fruits, and brilliant flowers, When lo! with wond'ring eyes, I quickly spied A female form approach on either side. Soon, from their acts, I saw their diff'rent aims, And soon, without inquiry, learn'd their names. The one was Envy, with malignant air, Who strove to blast the joys she could not share; The other was Content, whose face express'd The constant sunshine that illum'd her breast. At length the Genius of the place drew near, And whisper'd thus to my attentive ear:— 'Maiden, from frowning Envy turn thy sight— 'Pursue Content, and share her calm delight; 'She culls a rose from every thorn that grows, 'While Envy finds the thorn, nor heeds the rose.' TO A TEAR. EXPRESSIVE index of the heart, Thou burst of transport—mark of grief— Yet in Affliction's secret smart A little herald of relief. For thou art Misery's last resource; When other aid is vainly sought, We trace within thy silent course Some solace to the troubled thought. When trembling in the lucid eye, Or lingering on the humid cheek, 'Tis thine, sweet child of sympathy, With Nature's fluency to speak. Thou magic gem, I own thy power, O let me ever feel thee near Whene'er I see dark Sorrow lower O'er smiling scenes which Hope held dear. Alas! that some with hearts of guile In Virtue's vestments should appear,— Without affection, wear a smile, Without compassion, shed a tear! NIGHT. CLOS'D are the pearly portals of the day, 'Tis thine, O Night! to hold a solemn sway. When the last fading gleams of light have flown, Nature beholds thee mount thy shady throne; She sees the reins of empire in thy hand, And yields to rest at thy benign command. Now Fancy re-assumes her magic sway, And wakes 'midst thickest shades the blaze of Day; Imparts the Poet's wreath, the Victor's prize,— With feats of glory cheers the Hero's eyes; With new-born Hope the Lover's breast beguiles, Who looks on lovely Laura, and she smiles. Illusions all! Yet dreams in human life May serve as emblems of its varied strife. Oft, oft the little sunshine of its day, Like Fancy's glance, just gleams, and fades away. Let Nature's tribes around forget their woes, And share the balmy blessings of repose; But ere I close in sleep my weary eyes, I'll pause to contemplate yon starry skies. Thy voice, O Night! exhorts me to behold The spacious volume which thy hands unfold, Where lucid characters adorn the page, Unworn by time, and unconsum'd by age; O'er whose bright leaves Philosophy may turn, And humbly own how little she can learn; Yet each proclaims a grand Eternal Power, And bids the erring mind of man adore. SONNET TO THE SNOWDROP. ARRAY'D in vest of purest white, Thou fairest, first-born flower, I see thee wake to life and light Ere Spring renews the bower. No other charms adorn the scene— I watch thy opening bell, And on thy unaffected mien My eyes delight to dwell. I hold thee dearer to my heart Than many a gayer flower; Sweet pledge of promise, (such thou art) Ere Winter cedes his power I hear thee whisper, 'midst the gloom, That brighter hours will surely come. SPRING. HARK! how the feather'd warblers sing Throughout the leafy shade, And gently greet returning Spring, In countless charms array'd: Behold she comes with verdure crown'd, And scatters life and fragrance round. Of late, the mountain's brow was bare, The vale with tears bedew'd; And vapours fill'd the ambient air, With aspect dark and rude; Now in green tints the mount is drest, And Beauty decks the valley's breast. Exulting Nature smiles anew, From icy fetters freed; The violet opes her eyes of blue, The primrose paints the mead, And vegetation's sweets exhale A tribute to each ambient gale. Expanding buds and fragrant flowers In varied forms arise; With grateful voice Creation pours Her incense to the skies: In every grove, on every plain, She sees her children live again. TO A BEE. SOFT minstrel of the sunny hours, How welcome is thy song to me! Bright Summer's fragrant, favourite flowers Unveil their beauteous breasts to thee. Why, little teacher, range afar, Where Nature smiles in varied dress, When bright Aurora mounts her car, And teems with light and loveliness? I listen to thy prompt reply— (A lesson of important lore) Because nor wealth, nor power, can buy The moment that has gone before. Momentous truth! too rarely priz'd By mortals indigent or great; Uncontroverted, yet despised— Let not repentance come too late! TO A MURMURING STREAM. I LOVE to watch thee, gentle stream, Flowing with even course along, And wrapt in contemplation's dream, To listen to thy liquid song. O'er thee the sportive swallow springs, By Nature's boundless freedom blest; He loves to flit his active wings, And gently bathe his little breast. Here sister violets sip the dew, Sweet flowers to innocence allied; Retiring from the public view, They breathe their fragrance near thy side. Methinks celestial Poesy Might here erect a mossy cell,— Attune her lyre to ecstacy, And throw around her magic spell. Farewell, sweet stream—pursue thy course Through valleys sacred to repose, And prove a fertilizing source Where'er thy crystal water flows. Sweet emblem thou of life's fair stream, Descending to this vale of woe, That still with healing power shall teem, And through successive ages flow. SUNSHINE IN A SHOWER. SWIFTLY descending from the clouds, A sudden shower appears, O'erspreads the sky with sable shrouds, Bedews the earth with tears. But suddenly the sun breaks forth To chase the gloom away, And cheer again the weeping earth With his refulgent ray. So in Adversity's dark day, When lowering clouds annoy, Mercy appears with healing ray To give the mourner joy;— Gently to wipe the weeping eyes And calm the troubled breast; Then, child of grief, repress thy sighs, And hush thy plaints to rest. EVENING. THOU daughter of departed day, Enrob'd in majesty serene, I see thee tinge the sky with grey, And slowly shade the tufted green. Gleaming afar with lustre fair, The vesper planet lights thy way: I love the gloom thy features wear, And greet thy unobtrusive sway. 'Tis silence all, save where the stream Meanders through the flowery mead, Beside whose brink, in day's bright beam, The shepherd tunes his simple reed. Some viewless herald from the skies Commands (methinks) each sound to cease, While Nature shuts her weary eyes, And gently breathes of nought but peace. Yet fond Remembrance loves to weep O'er bliss that found an early tomb, While Childhood, wrapt in balmy sleep, Serenely dreams of joys to come. Like all that's sweet, how short thy reign, Thou sweetly soothing starry hour! For Night will quickly shade the plain, And veil the beauties of the bower. But Morn, with bright refulgent ray, Will radiate the hills anew, Awake the skylark's matin lay, And gem the meads with glittering dew. Then, hapless mourner, should'st thou stray At evening hour to vent thy strain, No longer bend beneath dismay, The morn of Hope will smile again! WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. WHY wish a humble lay of mine Within these varied leaves to stand, Where Taste and Genius brightly shine, Our admiration to command? Because the language of the heart (When Poesy her aid denies) Beyond the studied phrase of art 'Tis thine, my valued friend, to prize. But how shall I perform my task? What blessings shall I sue for thee? For wealth, for honour, shall I ask, With all their gilded pageantry? Ah! 'tis not all that wealth can claim That renders happiness secure: E'en golden stores, and earthly fame, Oft leave their proud possessor poor. May'st thou His special favour gain Who reigns supremely good and wise; Who clothes the flowerets of the plain, And grants his children large supplies. Then though Adversity's dark veil Enshroud thy fairest scenes below, And many a bitter, piercing gale Around thy pathway rudely blow— E'en then, O dissipate thy fear, For He will guide to scenes of light, Ne'er stain'd by Sorrow's frequent tear, Ne'er darken'd by Affliction's night. TO PEACE. DIVINE enchantress of the mind, Sweet source of happiness refin'd, Say in what lone, sequester'd cell, Or sylvan scene, thou lov'st to dwell? Say dost thou breathe a heavenly strain Where solitude and silence reign, And tell thy unaffected tale To pansy sweet, or primrose pale? I court thee when Aurora's ray Proclaims the soft approach of day; Arouses all the woodland train, Brightens the bosom of the plain, And wakes the flowers to life again. I seek thee in the gentle hour, When Eve resumes her modest power, Bedews the blade, and shuts the flower. Come, nymph propitious, softly spread Thy olive wreath around my head; Come, visit the embowering shade, In all thy loveliness array'd. Gently reveal thy placid face, And bid me meet thy kind embrace; Extend thy empire o'er the plain, Nor let me sue thy smiles in vain; Those smiles, whose influence banish care, Those smiles so sweet, but ah! so rare! AUTUMN. BEHOLD bright Summer's parting glance, And see sage Autumn's form advance! With steady pace her footsteps tread, While ripen'd clusters crown her head; With golden plumes she decks the plain, And Plenty follows in her train. But ere her form recedes from view, Each landscape wears a fading hue. The paths with wither'd leaves are strown, Far from their parent branches blown, Presenting to Reflection's eye True emblems of mortality, Which warn us straitly to employ Each hour for future peace and joy. TO THE MEMORY OF MY DEARESTRELATIVE. YES—thou art gone, my earliest, dearest friend— When will my unavailing sorrows end? Ah! what can yield this aching heart relief, Or quell the billows of o'erwhelming grief? Can I that sad, eventful morn portray On which thy spirit left her house of clay? When summon'd by a sister's voice I fled, And view'd thy breathless frame, thy drooping head, I neither did nor could believe thee dead. I gaz'd with wildness on thy placid face, Expecting there some sign of life to trace; I cried in many a fond, entreating strain, Dear mother! speak once more! O smile again! Thy gentle cheek I kiss'd, and bade thee press My own with all thy wonted tenderness. But no maternal accent caught my ears, Nor beam'd thy smile to dissipate my fears; No seal of fond affection pressed my cheek, What eloquence could half my anguish speak! Tho' friends, a weeping crowd, around me drew, Alas! no solace I deriv'd, or knew; But only wish'd upon the lap of earth To sleep with thee, to whom I ow'd my birth. Had I but heard thee in a fervent prayer, Commit to God thy heavenly Father's care, Thy absent partner, and thy children dear, A little longer doom'd to sojourn here; Had I but heard thee say, without a sigh, 'My children, learn to live, nor fear to die: 'I sink upon a Saviour's breast, to rise 'Amidst unchanging scenes, unclouded skies!' From this reflection, in severest, grief, Methinks my wounded heart would find relief. Mother! the memory of thy name rever'd, By every fond solicitude endeared, Will e'er more grateful to thy children be, Than Music's voice, or heaven-born Poesy. In life's fair dawn, 'twas thine to gild our way With many a purely intellectual ray; To teach our hearts to breathe the daily prayer At Mercy's throne, and ask acceptance there; To bid us praise that unseen Power above Who gave our breath, and claim'd our early love. But words must cease—too feeble to reveal Thy care of us—the gratitude we feel. Fair Spring shall still the flowery scene renew, Bright Summer twine her wreaths of rosy hue, Rich Autumn still the fertile fields adorn, Rude Winter chill the stream, and bare the thorn; Yes: seasons shall approach—revolve—be o'er— But Oh! my Mother! thou art seen no more. No: but the sun of life shall sink in shade, Ere the remembrance of thy worth shall fade. When Day recedes with majesty and grace, And Eve advances with a modest pace, To that thrice hallow'd spot would I repair Where thou wast laid, and vent my feelings there; There would I slowly pause, and softly tread, Affection's dew-drops unobserv'd to shed; There breathe my plaints in silence, and deplore Hopes fled for ever—joys that beam no more. Yet let me sorrow not as one bereft Of every hope, without a solace left; Let me remember that my Mother trod The narrow path, the only way to God;— Remember how her light was seen to shine In earthly gloom, and prove its source divine. Oh! when Adversity's black clouds obscur'd, She thought of Him who keenest griefs endur'd; And when a prospect more serene ensued, She humbly welcom'd the vicissitude; With grateful heart enjoy'd each mercy given, But sought for lasting happiness in Heaven. And now I have but one who bears the name That lays to tenderness the strongest claim, The name of Parent; let me then allay My Father's grief, and wipe his tears away: May it be mine to sooth his mournful hours, And plant the valley of his life with flowers! Ah! since with streaming eyes I saw him come, The sad spectator of a widow'd home, His lov'd, his honour'd name has been to me Far, far more welcome than it used to be. O may I henceforth ardently aspire To be whate'er a Father can desire! Let me, by constant sympathy and care, Console my Sisters in the grief they share, And to my only Brother let me prove 'Tis mine to value and return his love. O may we live more mindful of the hour When all terrestrial charms must lose their power; Fulfil the duties of our little sphere, And each be found a mutual blessing here! And may the thought that we shall meet above, Lov'd with a Saviour's everlasting love, Sooth and support till parting days are o'er, And parting agonies are felt no more! TO MY SISTER M——. The Poet's lyre, to fix his fame, "Should be the Poet's heart; Affection lights a brighter flame "Than ever blaz'd by art." COWPER. SISTER, encircl'd by thy arms, I ever find a place of rest, When anxious fear my soul alarms, Or piercing sorrow rends my breast. Ere childhood's cloudless sun had set, I held sweet converse oft with thee: If parted but an hour, we met With more than wonted gaiety. Ah! where is each enchanted scene Our fond imagination drew? With fields of undecaying green, With skies serene, and ever blue? Sorrow a sable garb has spread O'er prospects once so fair and gay, And crush'd beneath her icy tread The flowerets that adorn'd our way. Oft, oft her influence chases far Soft slumber from the mourner's eyes, When Night ascends her shady car, And nought is brilliant, save the skies. I've found the world a vale of tears, Yet still I think, and speak with thee: The sister of my earliest years Still lives, and lives to solace me. Some friends, by Death's cold hand remov'd, Smile on us now, alas! no more: The tenderest and the most belov'd Her course has run, and gone before. Beneath yon turf her ashes sleep, A spot to memory truly dear, Whither we oft retire to weep, With faithful footsteps lingering near. But in a bright, immortal sphere Our lov'd, lamented parent lives, Nor heaves a sigh, nor sheds a tear,— What comfort this assurance gives! May heavenly Hope our anchor prove, While sailing down Life's troubled tide, And let us with a vest of love Essay each others' faults to hide. May Father, Sisters, Brother, meet Departed friends in brighter skies, Where Faith is lost in rapture sweet, Where suns unclouded ever rise! TO A FRIEND. FEW fleeting years have pass'd away, My friend, since first we met: That short, that happy holiday I never shall forget. Then beams of joy, with radiance fair, Illumin'd every scene, And little deem'd we clouds of care Would ever intervene. What varied forms of pleasure rose Around our ardent sight! Each night allur'd to soft repose, Each morn renew'd delight. How oft the daily task we plied! The same preceptor taught, Who prov'd a steady friend and guide Within the track of thought. And when in Recreation's hour We bent our minds on play, Still blest with Friendship's kindly power, We felt and own'd her sway. Alas! those scenes exist no more, Save in the wide domain Where faithful Memory keeps her store, And there they smile again. And still, my friend, in bliss or woe, My heart to thee inclines, And warmest, kindest feelings flow In these unstudied lines. For when we caroll'd childhood's lays I thought thy love sincere, And in my sad, my joyless days, I've found thee very dear. May rosy Health be long thy guest! (Sweet nymph, that care beguiles;) May sacred Peace illume thy breast, And cheer thee with her smiles! O may'st thou be a child of Him, And share his special grace, Who condescended to redeem The sons of human race! Then, when upon the couch of death Thy wasting frame shall lie, Angels shall watch thy parting breath, And guide thee to the sky. And where unfading prospects rise, Immortal pleasures reign, 'Midst changeless scenes, and cloudless skies, O may we meet again! TO A NIGHTINGALE. On hearing one sing after a violent Thunder Storm. THOU tuneful tenant of the shade, Ne'er was thy voice so sweet to me As now from yonder shelter'd glade Resound thy notes of harmony. Of late, what dreaded tumults broke From the wide concave of the sky; The tow'ring mount of terror spoke, The echoing valley heav'd a sigh. But Nature smiles, renew'd with grace, And downy Peace resumes her reign; The firmament's etherial face With starry beauty glows again. Then peerless warbler, still thy strain Attune, to Love and Nature dear; Thou sweetest of th' harmonic train, To thee Expansion lends an ear. Still pour thy magic minstrelsy Where no tumultuous powers intrude; And may my heart respond to thee In undissembled gratitude! "REMEMBER ME. FATHER, around my path below, Thy mantle of protection throw; Bright source whence all my blessings flow, Remember me. When health invigorates my frame, My heart with gratitude inflame, Thy might and mercy to proclaim; Remember me. When smiling prospects greet my view, In vesture of attractive hue, O teach me they are transient too; Remember me. When fair Temptation round my feet Strews many a false, a flattering sweet, And lures my wandering eyes to meet, Remember me. When bright and blooming hopes decay, And joys long cherish'd fade away, Each burst of sad regret allay; Remember me. When varied sorrows round me rise, Softly repress my secret sighs, And gently wipe my weeping eyes; Remember me. When sickness shall deprive of rest, Be thy sustaining power confest, Then calm the anguish of my breast; Remember me. And when I close my short career, Around my dying couch appear, And dissipate each lingering fear; Remember me. THE INFANT'S PRAYER. HEAR'ST thou yon artless infant's prayer His little wants express? Health's rosy vest his features wear, And glow with loveliness: Surely a spark divine is given To one who looks and breathes of Heaven. The herald of the blushing morn, The first fair streak of light, Proclaiming she is newly born, And soon will greet the sight, Scarce seems more lovely than the grace That gleams upon his cloudless face. Angels might pause amidst their lays, In yonder seats of bliss, And downward bend their ardent gaze O'er such a scene as this; Though circled with celestial light, Unclouded by one shade of night. Sweet are the orisons to me From little lips that part; They plead with true simplicity— They issue from the heart: All eloquence is light as air, Unless its secret source be there. Ah! many who perchance have given Their hours to trifles long, And rarely waft a thought to Heaven In prayer or grateful song, Might blush with inward shame to see A gentle infant's bended knee. Whene'er a child is taught to pray, O Thou who reign'st above, Possessor of unbounded sway, And source of light and love, Dost thou not bend thy gracious ear The undissembling strain to hear? "O TELL ME WHERE DOES BEAUTY BEAM." NOT on Elvira's blooming face— For there no warmth of soul we trace; Not in her bright, her sparkling eye— That only teems with brilliancy; Not in her graceful, easy smile— For ah! 'tis faithless all the while. O tell me where does Beauty beam, Of every minstrel's song the theme? View yonder maid, with aspect meek, No roses bloom upon her cheek; The only lustre of her eye Is that of sensibility: Yet see imprest upon her face The marks of loveliest, lasting grace; For Pity beams with aspect fair, And Gratitude's bright glow is there. THE PARTING VOICE OF SUMMER. FAREWELL! I leave fair Albion's flowery isle, To bless far distant regions with a smile; To wake the slumbering minstrel into song, Who in bright dreams has seen my coming long. The wreaths I twin'd for Nature's brow to wear No longer glow with beauty fresh and fair, And oft, ere by my hands again array'd, Her lovely form will be enwrapt in shade. What thousands now my exit may deplore Who hear my voice, who see my smile no more! Yet let me take one retrospective view, And only breathe another fond adieu— Thus Summer said—and from the scene withdrew. Soon as her parting strain I ceas'd to hear, I gaz'd on Nature, and she shed a tear. Methought the skies grew dim, the flowerets pale, And plaintive voices echo'd in the gale. A shady cloud the mountain's brow o'erspread, And e'en the lordly forest droop'd its head. Ah me! each charm that gilds our earthly hours Fades like the bloom of Summer's sunny bowers; We watch its birth with anxious, ardent eyes— At length it comes, it smiles, it fades, and dies. All that is highest valued, held most dear, Soon, soon recedes from view—we drop a tear, And ought to learn that bliss abides not here. HOME. THERE is a well-known spot on earth To which affection clings; Whence fondest feelings date their birth, And purest pleasure springs, The polish'd muse may sing its praise, The feeling heart alone That sympathy's soft influence sways Can call those charms its own. There glows the sweet accordant smile On many a well-known face; There is the counsel void of guile, The tender, true embrace. The kindness that can soon persuade Can quickly fear dispel; The ardent wish—the power to aid In Home's soft circle dwell. And when Affliction's pallid train Appear with brow severe, At Home we need not look in vain For Sympathy's soft tear. Sweet trace of Eden, kindly left By justly incens'd Heaven, When guilty man, of peace bereft, From that fair spot was driven. Still, gentle Home, thy smiles impart: I've known thy value long; Still be the treasure of my heart, The subject of my song. For oh! if I should ever cease To find a friend in thee, Few accents then would whisper peace, Few smiles remain for me. Ye sons of Discord, proud and vain, T' embitter Home forbear; No longer trample with disdain On bliss which all may share. O crush contention in its birth, Let wrath give place to love; Short, short will be your stay on earth— No discord dwells above. THE END. Thomas Pennell, Printer, High-street, Kidderminster.