Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Here industry to comfort led;

Her book of light here learning spread;
Here the warm heart of youth
Was woo'd to temperance and to truth;
Here hoary age was found,
By wisdom and by reverence crown'd.
No great but guilty fame

Here kindled pride, that should have kindled shame;
These chose the better, happier part,

That pour'd its sunlight o'er the heart,

That crown'd their homes with peace and health, And weigh'd Heaven's smile beyond earth's wealth;

Far from the thorny paths of strife They stood, a living lesson to their race,

Rich in the charities of life,

Man in his strength, and woman in her grace; In purity and truth their pilgrim path they trod, And when they served their neighbour, felt they served their GOD."

XXIX.

This may not wake the poet's verse, This souls of fire may ne'er rehearse

In crowd-delighting voice;

Yet o'er the record shall the patriot bend, His quiet praise the moralist shall lend, And all the good rejoice.

XXX.

This be our story, then, in that far day,
When others come their kindred debt to pay.
In that far day?—O, what shall be,
In this dominion of the free,

When we and ours have render'd up our trust,
And men unborn shall tread above our dust?
O, what shall be?-He, He alone
The dread response can make,
Who sitteth on the only throne

That time shall never shake:
Before whose all-beholding eyes
Ages sweep on, and empires sink and rise.
Then let the song, to Him begun,

To Him in reverence end;
Look down in love, Eternal One,
And Thy good cause defend;

Here, late and long, put forth thy hand,
To guard and guide the Pilgrim's land.

LINES TO A YOUNG MOTHER.

YOUNG mother! what can feeble friendship say, To soothe the anguish of this mournful day? They, they alone, whose hearts like thine have bled, Know how the living sorrow for the dead; Each tutor'd voice, that seeks such grief to cheer, Strikes cold upon the weeping parent's ear; I've felt it all-alas! too well I know How vain all earthly power to hush thy wo! Gon cheer thee, childless mother! 'tis not given For man to ward the blow that falls from heaven.

I've felt it all-as thou art feeling now; Like thee, with stricken heart and aching brow, I've sat and watch'd by dying beauty's bed, And burning tears of hopeless anguish shed; I've gazed upon the sweet, but pallid face, And vainly tried some comfort there to trace; I've listen'd to the short and struggling breath; I've seen the cherub eye grow dim in death; Like thee, I've veil'd my head in speechless gloom, And laid my first-born in the silent tomb.

I SEE THEE STILL.

"I rock'd her in the cradle,

And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest.
What fireside circle hath not felt the charm
Of that sweet tie? The youngest ne'er grew old
The fond endearments of our earlier days
We keep alive in them, and when they die,
Our youthful joys we bury with them."

I SEE thee still:

Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night;
In dreams I meet thee as of old:
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear:
In every scene to memory dear
I see thee still.

I see thee still,

In every hallow'd token round;
This little ring thy finger bound,
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded,
This silken chain by thee was braided,
These flowers, all wither'd now, like thee,
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me;
This book was thine, here didst thou read;
This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed,
I see thee still.

I see thee still:

Here was thy summer noon's retreat,
Here was thy favourite fireside seat;
This was thy chamber-here, each day,
I sat and watch'd thy sad decay;
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie,
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die:
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold;
As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.

I see thee still:

Thou art not in the grave confined-
Death cannot claim the immortal mind;
Let earth close o'er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust;
Thee, O my sister, 'tis not thee
Beneath the coffin's lid I see;
Thou to a fairer land art gone;
There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still!

LINES ON THE DEATH OF M. S. C.

I KNEW that we must part-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet "Good night" fell fainter from thy tongue;

I knew that we must part-no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave;

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they

cast,

Looking a sister's fondness to the last;

Thy lips so pale, that gently press'd my cheek,
Thy voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak;-
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;

The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, MARY-thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seem'd a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that Gon, even then, was good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of
night,

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 't were given
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confess'd.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touch'd each feature with a new-born grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had pass'd away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me!
I ask no more than this-to die like thee.

But we have parted, MARY-thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss return'd;
From those veil'd orbs no glance responsive burn'd;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst pass'd away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;

Years hurried back, and as they swiftly roll'd,
I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew;
Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claim'd her due;
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started;
I turn'd away-and felt that we had parted.-
But not forever-in the silent tomb,
Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while, a few short years of pain,
And, one by one, we'll come to thee again;
The kind old father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief,
Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;

Sister and brother, and that faithful friend,
True from the first, and tender to the end,-
All, all, in His good time, who placed us here,
To live, to love, to die, and disappear,
Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree;
With thee to sleep through death's long, dream-
less night,

With thee rise up and bless the morning light.

THE FAMILY MEETING.*

WE are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother,

All who hold each other dear.
Each chair is fill'd-we're all at home;
To-night let no cold stranger come:

It is not often thus around
Our old familiar hearth we 're found:
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;
For once be every care forgot;
Let gentle Peace assert her power,
And kind Affection rule the hour;
We're all-all here.

We're not all here!

Some are away-the dead ones dear,
Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Look'd in and thinn'd our little band:
Some like a night-flash pass'd away,
And some sank, lingering, day by day;
The quiet graveyard-some lie there-
And cruel Ocean has his share-
We're not all here.

We are all here!

Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear;
Fond Memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remember'd face appears!
We see them as in times long past;
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold;
They're round us as they were of old-
We are all here.
We are all here!
Father, mother,
Sister, brother,

You that I love with love so dear.
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gather'd dead;
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
O! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below!
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-all here!

*Written on the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family.

[blocks in formation]

Gon of wisdom, GoD of might,
Father! dearest name of all,

Bow thy throne and bless our rite;
'Tis thy children on thee call.
Glorious ONE! look down from heaven,
Warm each heart and wake each vow;
Unto Thee this house is given;
With thy presence fill it now.

Fill it now! on every soul

Shed the incense of thy grace, While our anthem-echoes roll Round the consecrated place; While thy holy page we read,

While the prayers Thou lovest ascend, While thy cause thy servants plead,Fill this house, our Gon, our Friend. Fill it now-0, fill it long!

So, when death shall call us home, Still to Thee, in many a throng,

May our children's children come. Bless them, Father, long and late,

Blot their sins, their sorrows dry;

Make this place to them the gate Leading to thy courts on high. There, when time shall be no more,

When the feuds of earth are past, May the tribes of every shore

Congregate in peace at last! Then to Thee, thou ONE all-wise, Shall the gather'd millions sing, Till the arches of the skies With their hallelujahs ring.

TO MY CIGAR.

YES, social friend, I love thee well,
In learned doctors' spite;

Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
And lap me in delight.

What though they tell, with phizzes long,
My years are sooner pass'd?

I would reply, with reason strong,
They're sweeter while they last.
And oft, mild friend, to me thou art
A monitor, though still;

Thou speak'st a lesson to my heart,
Beyond the preacher's skill.

Thou 'rt like the man of worth, who gives
To goodness every day,

The odour of whose virtues lives
When he has passed away.

When, in the lonely evening hour,
Attended but by thee,
O'er history's varied page I pore,
Man's fate in thine I see.

Oft as thy snowy column grows,
Then breaks and falls away,

I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
Thus tumbled to decay.

A while, like thee, earth's masters burn,
And smoke and fume around,

And then, like thee, to ashes turn,

And mingle with the ground.

Life's but a leaf adroitly roll'd,

And time's the wasting breath,
That late or early, we behold,
Gives all to dusty death.

From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,
One common doom is pass'd:
Sweet nature's works, the swelling globe,
Must all burn out at last.

And what is he who smokes thee now?

A little moving heap,

That soon like thee to fate must bow,
With thee in dust must sleep.

But though thy ashes downward go,
Thy essence rolls on high;
Thus, when my body must lie low,
My soul shall cleave the sky.

HENRY WARE, JR.

[Born, 1794. Died, 1843.]

HENRY WARE, D. D., a son of HENRY WARE, D. D., and brother of WILLIAM WARE, D. D., author of "Probus," etc., was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, on the seventh of April, 1794; was graduated at Cambridge in 1812; completed his theological studies in 1815; was ordained minister of the Second Congregational Church, in Boston, in 1817; received RALPH WALDO EMERSON as his colleague, in 1829; for the recovery of his health soon after visited Europe; and on his return, in 1830, resigned his charge and entered

upon the office of Professor of Pulpit Eloquence and the Pastoral Care in the Theological School connected with Harvard College, which he held until the summer of 1812, when he gave up his public duties. He died September 22, 1843.

Dr. WARE's writings, theological, critical, and miscellaneous, are numerous and valuable. In 1815 he published " A Poem on Occasion of the Peace;" in 1821 The Vision of Liberty;" in 1837, The Feast of the Tabernacles," and at various times many shorter pieces, chiefly devotional.

[ocr errors]

TO THE URSA MAJOR.

WITH What a stately and majestic step That glorious constellation of the north Treads its eternal circle! going forth Its princely way among the stars in slow And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail! I joy to see thee on thy glowing path Walk, like some stout and girded giant; stern, Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot Disdains to loiter on its destined way. The other tribes forsake their midnight track, And rest their weary orbs beneath thy wave; But thou dost never close thy burning eye, Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on, While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds. The near horizon tempts to rest in vain. Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit Thy long-appointed watch; but, sleepless still, Dost guard the fix'd light of the universe, And bid the north forever know its place.

Ages have witness'd thy devoted trust, Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through

heaven,

And echo'd from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, thy voice

Join'd the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd
Of splendours that enrich his firmament.
As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.
Ages have roll'd their course, and time grown gray;
The earth has gather'd to her womb again,
And yet again, the myriads that were born
Of her uncounted, unremember'd tribes.
The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills
Have stoop'd with age; the solid continents
Have left their banks; and man's imperial works—
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had
flung

Their haughty honours in the face of heaven,
As if immortal-have been swept away:
Shatter'd and mouldering, buried and forgot.
But time has shed no dimness on thy front,
Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread; youth,
strength,

And beauty still are thine; as clear, as bright,
As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
The eternal chorus of eternal Love.
I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light,
Undimm'd, unquench'd-just as I see it now-
Has issued from those dazzling points through years
That go back far into eternity.

Exhaustless flood! forever spent, renew'd
Forever! Yea, and those refulgent drops,
Which now descend upon my lifted eye,
Left their far fountain twice three years ago.
While those wing'd particles, whose speed outstrips
The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth
Compass'd its tedious circuit round and round,
And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld
Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve!
So vast the void through which their beams descend!
Yes, glorious lamp of God! He may have quench'd
Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night
Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach
This distant planet. Messengers still come
Laden with your far fire, and we may seem
To see your lights still burning; while their blaze
But hides the black wreck of extinguish'd realms,
Where anarchy and darkness long have reign'd.

Yet what is this, which to the astonish'd mind
Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought
Confounds? A span, a point, in those domains
Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars
Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight
Embraces all at once; yet each from each
Recedes as far as each of them from earth.
And every star from every other burns
No less remote. From the profound of heaven,

Untravell'd even in thought, keen, piercing rays
Dart through the void, revealing to the sense
Systems and worlds unnumber'd. Take the glass
And search the skies. The opening skies pour down
Upon your gaze thick showers of sparkling fire;
Stars, crowded, throng'd, in regions so remote,
That their swift beams-the swiftest things that
be-

Have travell'd centuries on their flight to earth.
Earth, sun, and nearer constellations! what
Are ye amid this infinite extent

And multitude of Gon's most infinite works!

And these are suns! vast, central, living fires,
Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds
That wait as satellites upon their power,
And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul,
And meditate the wonder! Countless suns
Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless
worlds!

Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice,
And drink the bliss of being from the fount
Of all-pervading Love. What mind can know,
What tongue can utter all their multitudes!
Thus numberless in numberless abodes!
Known but to thee, bless'd Father! Thine they are,
Thy children, and thy care; and none o'erlook'd
Of thee! No, not the humblest soul that dwells
Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course
Amid the giant glories of the sky,

Like the mean mote that dances in the beam
Amongst the mirror'd lamps, which fling
Their wasteful splendour from the palace wall,
None, none escape the kindness of thy care;
All compass'd underneath thy spacious wing,
Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand.

Tell me, ye splendid orbs! as from your throne
Ye mark the rolling provinces that own
Your sway, what beings fill those bright abodes?
How form'd, how gifted? what their powers, their
state,

Their happiness, their wisdom? Do they bear
The stamp of human nature? Or has GoD
Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms
And more celestial minds? Does Innocence
Still wear her native and untainted bloom?
Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad,
And sow'd corruption in those fairy bowers?
Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?
And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and
Hate,

And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust
Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,
And scatter wo where Heaven had planted joy?!
Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen
And uncorrupt? existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin
Upon the heart, or weariness of life;
Hope never quench'd, and age unknown,
And death unfear'd; while fresh and fadeless youth
Glows in the light from Gon's near throne of love?
Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!
Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds
Unfold! No language? Everlasting light
And everlasting silence?
Yet the eye
May read and understand. The hand of GoD

Has written legibly what man may know,
THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,
Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,
May know and ask no more. In other days,
When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings,
Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,
Perchance, among those vast, mysterious spheres,
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each,
Familiar with its children; learn their laws,
And share their state, and study and adore
The infinite varieties of bliss

And beauty, by the hand of Power divine
Lavish'd on all its works. Eternity
Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight;
No pause of pleasure or improvement; world
On world still opening to the instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time
But adding to its glories. While the soul,
Advancing ever to the Source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.

SEASONS OF PRAYER.

To prayer, to prayer;-for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send up the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer;-for the glorious sun is gone,'
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of
night.

To prayer;--for the day that Gon has bless'd
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallow'd hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
O, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows
With rapture a mother only knows.
Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,
As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer

Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow-
O, what is earth and its pleasures now!

« AnkstesnisTęsti »