Pleasure not found in the World.

In search of enjoyment I wander'd in vain,

With a void in my bosom that nothing could fill; For Mirth's gayest smile was succeeded by Pain, And the sweet cup of Pleasure proved bitterness still.

The young days of Fancy roll'd rapidly by,

And I shrank with dismay from the future's dark gloom,

Where the clay-fetter'd spirit must mourn till it die, And man has no rest but the rest of the tomb.

And yet I have revell'd in Hope's fairy dream,

And tasted the raptures of Love's purest bliss; Delusive are both, though alluring they seem,

Like vapours that gleam o'er a hidden abyss. The proud thirst of glory was mine from my birth; But what can this world to ambition display, Which grasps at the skies, but is bounded by earth

A spirit of fire in a prison of clay?

And now I have heard of a loftier crown,
A kingdom unfading-a glory divine;
But the humble alone shall inherit the crown,

And how shall that kingdom of glory be mine?

244

LOVE OF PARENTS.

Let my strength turn to weakness—my honour to shame

The reproach of the cross be my earthly reward; All, all shall be welcome for one blessèd name, The lowly disciple of Jesus the Lord!

DALE.

Love of Parents.

To honour those who gave us birth,
To cheer their age, to feel their worth,
Is God's command to human kind,
And own'd by every grateful mind.

Trace then the tender scenes of old,
And all our infant days unfold;
Yield back to sight the mother's breast,
Watchful to lull the child to rest.

Survey her toil, her anxious care,
To form the lisping lips to prayer ;
To win for God the yielding soul,
And all its ardent thoughts control.

DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN.

Nor hold from Mem'ry's glad review
The fears which all the fathers knew ;
The joy that mark'd his thankful grace,
As virtue crown'd maturer days.

When press'd by sickness, pain, or grief!
How anxious they to give relief!
Our dearest wish they hold their own;
Till ours return'd, their peace was flown,

God of our life, each parent guard,
And Death's sad hour, O long retard!
Be theirs each joy that gilds the past,
And Heaven our mutual home at last.

NOEL,

Death af a Christian.

CALM on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps tròd,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul to its place on high!

They who have seen thy look in death,

No more may fear to die.

MRS. HEMANS.

245

Suvorafica.

ANSWER me, burning Stars of night!
Where is the spirit gone,

That, past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown?—
And the Stars answer'd me—"We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die.”

O many-toned and chainless Wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;

Tell me if thou its place canʼst find,
Far over mount and sea?
And the Wind murmur'd in reply,
"The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high
But not what thou hast lost."

Ye Clouds that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,

Answer, have ye a home for those

Whose earthly race is run?

DEATH.

The bright Clouds answered

We vanish from the sky;

247

'We depart,

Ask what is deathless in thy heart,
For that which cannot die."

Speak then, thou Voice of God within,
Thou of the deep low tone!
Answer me, through life's restless din,
Where is the spirit flown?

And the Voice answered-"Be thou still.

Enough to know is given;

Clouds, Winds, and Stars their part fulfil,

Thine is to trust in Heaven."

MRS. HEMANS.

Death.

I HAVE linger'd long for my destined prey,
And often been call'd from her home away;
But I saw her fit for the realms on high,
And said, "It were better she now should die."

The husband's prayers I could plainly hear,
As I watch'd the course of each trickling tear;
But his grief of heart was of no avail,

And I saw him bend o'er her form so pale.