Sister, the young rose-tree, That all the spring has been my pleasant care, And when its roses bloom I shall be gone away-my short course run- "Now, mother, sing the tune You sang last night; I'm weary, and must sleep— Who was it called my name? Nay, do not weep, You'll all come soon!" Morning spread over earth her rosy wings, GOD OUR REFUGE. BEREFT of all, when hopeless care No balm that earthly plants distil Can soothe the mourner's smart; No mortal hand with lenient skill But One alone, who reigns above, And light the lamp of joy and love Then, O my soul, to that One flee, THE HOUR OF DEATH. LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, Thou hast ALL seasons for thine own, O Death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, The banquet hath its hour, prayer; Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears;-but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee; but thou art not of those Who wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, Thou hast ALL seasons for thine own, O Death! We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain; But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air, Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set ;-but all, Thou hast ALL seasons for thine own, O Death! LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. T. SPENCER, Who was drowned while bathing in the tide, on the 5th of I WILL not sing a mortal's praise; To whom my powers belong! In earth and ocean, sky and air, The source and stream of good. I worship not the sun at noon, I will not bow the votive knee To wisdom, virtue, liberty; "There is no god but God," for me; -Jehovah is his name. Him through all nature I explore, Around, beneath, above; But clearest in the human mind, His bright resemblance when I find, Oh! there was ONE,-on earth awhile His beauteous image pass'd us by; He came like lightning from the sky, Mild, in his undissembling mien The soul, whose hopes were wont to climb Of old, before the lamp grew dark, Heard, through the temple's silent round, Thus early call'd, and strongly moved, SPENCER his course began; From strength to strength, from grace to grace, Swiftest and foremost in the race, He carried victory in his face; He triumph'd as he ran. |