200 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND Nay, murmur not, Man! like th' halcyon thou Thy nest on the billow hast made : Thou hast trusted the calm of the summer, and now Go, build on the rock that looks down on the shock Of the elements combating free, Where no clouds part thine eye sky and the ever bright No woes, thy Creator and thee! HENRY THOMSON. On the Death of a Friend. FRIEND after friend departs: Beyond the flight of Time, Beyond the reign of Death, There surely is some blessèd clime Where life is not a breath; ! THE MISSIONARY. There is a world above, Where parting is unknown; Form'd for the good alone: Thus star by star declines, As morning high and higher shines, Nor sink those stars in empty night, They hide themselves in heaven's own light. 201 JAMES MONTGOMERY. The Missionary. "He was the first that ever bore My heart goes with thee, dauntless man, To sojourn with some barbarous clan, For them to toil or die. Fondly our spirits to our own Cling, nor to part allow; Thine to some land forlorn has flown We turn-and where art thou? 202 THE MISSIONARY. Thou climb'st the vessel's lofty side: Hearts which for knowledge track the seas. A savage shore receives thy tread; The wild boughs wave above thy head, Till wearily thou drawest near Strange is thine aspect to their eyes; The spirit of those barbarous hordes But oh! thy heart, thou home-sick man, With saddest thoughts runs o'er, Sitting, as fades the evening wan, Silently at thy door, the wild, Yet that poor hut upon A stone beneath the tree, And souls to heaven's love reconciled These are enough for thee! W. HOWITT. Tyre. IN thought, I saw the palace-domes of Tyre; I look'd again-I saw a lonely shore, A rock amid the waters, and a waste And winds that rose in gusty haste. There was one scathed tree by storm defaced, Round which the sea-birds wheel'd with screaming cry. Ere long came on a traveller, slowly paced, Now east, now west he turn'd; with curious Like one perplex'd with an uncertainty, Awhile he look'd upon the sea, and then Upon a book, as if it might supply eye, The things he lack'd: he read and gazed again; Yet, as if unbelief so on him wrought, He might not deem this shore the shore he sought. Again I saw him come:-'twas eventide; The sun shone on the rock amid the sea; The winds were hush'd: the quiet billows sigh'd With a low swell: the birds wing'd silently Their evening flight around the scathed tree; The fisher safely put into the bay, And push'd his boat ashore: then gather'd he His nets, and hastening up the rocky way, Spread them to catch the sun's warm evening ray. I saw that stranger's eye gaze on the scene, "And this was Tyre!" said he, "how has decay Within her palaces a despot been! Ruin and silence in her courts are met, And on her city-rock the fisher spreads his net!" MARY HOWITT. |