The hopes and the courage of Adam to daunt,

It ceased not, the spectre, his footsteps to haunt;

His children it touch'd, and converted to dust

In a moment his tenderest objects of trust;

Birds and beasts fell around him; where'er Adam walk'd, Before him, in fancy, the murderer stalk'd;

More dread to the heart when unseen by the eye,

'Twas vain from the phantom to hide or to fly; Wrinkles and bloom met the same doom,—

One touch of the Gorgon sent all to the tomb.

It lurk'd in the wave, in the air, in the bower,--
An ubiquitous curse, an all-withering power,-
Still snatching from Adam his hope and his joy,
And scaring with dread when it fail'd to destroy;
Till weaken'd with age, worn with sorrow and fear,
He felt a cold hand on his heart, and his ear
Was chill'd by the spectre's cadaverous breath,

As in accents sepulchral it groan'd-I AM DEATH!"

THE SANCTUARY.

In Israel was many a refuge city,

Whereto the blameless homicide might flee, And claim protection, sustenance, and pity,

Safe from the blood-avenger's enmity,

Until the law's acquittal sent him thence,

Free from offence.

Round old cathedral, abbey-church, and palace, Did we ourselves a sanctuary draw,

Where no stern creditor could glut his malice,

And even criminals might brave the law;

For judge nor justice in that charter'd verge Their rights could urge.

These times are gone; felons and knavish debtors

May mourn the change, but who bewails their case? For why should God and King be made abettors

Of guilt and fraud, the champions of the base?

Never may such a desecration stain

Our land again!

But all are not divested of their charter;
One refuge still is left for human woes.
Victim of care! or persecution's martyr!

Who seek'st a sure asylum from thy foes,
Learn that the holiest, safest, purest, best,
Is man's own breast!

There is a solemn sanctuary founded

By God himself; not for transgressors meant; But that the man opprest, the spirit-wounded, And all beneath the world's injustice bent,

Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil, and din, To peace within.

Each bosom is a temple; when its altar,

The living heart, is unprofaned and pure,

Its verge is hallow'd; none need fear or falter Who thither fly; it is an ark secure,

Winning, above a world o'erwhelm'd with wrath, Its peaceful path.

O Bower of Bliss! O Sanctuary holy!
Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy!
Never! oh, never may misdeed or folly
My claim to thy beatitudes destroy!
Still may I keep this Paradise unlost,
Where'er I'm tost.

E'en in the flesh, the spirit disembodied,

Uncheck'd by time and space, may soar elate, In silent awe to commune with the Godhead,Or the millennium reign anticipate,

When earth shall be all sanctity and love,
Like heaven above.

How sweet to turn from anguish, guilt, and madness,

From scenes where strife and tumult never cease,

To that Elysian world of bosom'd gladness,

Where all is silence, charity, and peace; And shelter'd from the storm the soul may rest

On its own nest!

When, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa,

We shrink from winter's touch and Nature's gloom,

There may we conjure up a Vallombrosa,

Where groves and bowers in summer beauty bloom,

And the heart dances in the sunny glade

Fancy has made.

But, would we dedicate to nobler uses,

This bosom sanctuary, let us there

Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses;

While high and charitable thoughts and pray'r,

May teach us gratitude to God, combined

With love of kind.