138

DAYS DEPARTED.

Dying Year! and is this all?
Shuts thy scene in chilling gloom?
Yes, and Nature weaves her pall,
Year, departing! for thy tomb.
Here shall sleep the shadowy fears,
Here the triumphs of thy span;
Here shall slumber smiles and tears,
Here the dreams of passing man.

Schemes of bliss that rose awhile,
Griefs that clouded life's career,
Joys that dazzled to beguile,

Crushed alike, ye perish here.
Sleep they all?-shall none revive?
Year! then where thy trophies, say?

What shall in thy annals live,—

Live, when Time hath passed away?

Shall the deaf'ning battle shout,
Urging on to victory?

Shall the victim's blood, poured out
To the idol deity?

Furl thy banner, Glory! furl it,
Trophy of the slaughter ground;
Time, the conqueror, shall hurl it
To Oblivion's dark profound.

Stands the proud man's dwelling, reared On the wreck of poverty?

DAYS DEPARTED.

Triumphs yet the oppressor, seared,
Mocking tears of misery?

Yet the flame of Envy burneth,

In that breast broods hateful vice; Wretch accursed!-sweet Mercy spurneth The cold heart of Avarice.

Perish these-let none revive!

Year! then where thy trophies, say?

What shall in thy annals live,

Live, when Time hath passed away?
Saw ye not Compassion's deed,
When, to sooth a brother's moan,
Pity flew to misery's need?—
"Tis recorded near the throne!

Heard ye not the balmy voice,
Grateful as the dew of heaven,-
When a brother bade "rejoice!"
"Sin no more, and be forgiven ?”
Dying Year! then not in vain,
Meteor like, thou'st glided by;
Moments! ye shall live again,
Deeds of mercy never die.

139

YES, thou wast called, and who could save!
Cut down in morning's careless hour,
We bear thee to an early grave,

Earth bosoms not a lovelier flower.
We weep,-how vain the bitter tear!
Lament, how fruitless is the sigh!
O, shall we never learn that here

The germs of promise bud to die?

Thou wast the hope of waning years,
Valued, and friendship knows how well;
Beloved-alas, a mother's tears,

A mother's love alone can tell.
Who weeps not, when corruption takes
Its slumber in the rayless tomb?
O, who shall weep, when beauty wakes,
In gladness, to immortal bloom!

Shall loveliness, sweet girl! like thine,
Expand its beauties but to fade?
Speak, Frances! say, at yonder shrine
Thou minist'rest, a vestal maid:

SAVED BY OUR INSTRUMENTALITY.

141

The intellectual graces given,

The mental charms that love excite, Can never die exhaled to heaven,

They glow, the quenchless gems of light.

Farewell! we ask, dear relics! not
The sculptured marble to adorn
Thy grave, nor for the hallowed spot,
The monument or lettered urn;
But while Decay feeds on thy brow,
And damp and darkness linger there,
Within the heart's retirement, thou
Shalt live in form and graces fair.

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Ir in some fair and jewelled crown
That to the blest redeemed is given,
Are stars that cast their brightness down,
Loveliest among the gems of Heaven-
It is the diadem he wears,

Who woke and watched for souls below;
Striving to save, by tears and prayers,
Immortals from immortal wo.

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If, stealing on the angels' hymn,

Come harmonies of softer wires, In tones, to ears of seraphim,

Sweeter than their own silver lyres— It is when saved ones tell above

Of him who came when hope had flown; And pointed to a Saviour's love,

And led the sinner to the throne.

O, holy God! while flies beyond

Wide swelling seas, that Truth of Thee, Which melts down every slavish bond, And from dark idols wins the kneeEngage our youthful hearts, that long To labour in this holy strife;

And dearer boon than crown and song

Is ours-Thy favour, which is Life.