« 이전계속 »
Behold the path he trod,
"A milky way" through midnight skies!
Prepare to meet thy God."
SHALL man, to sordid views confined,
His powers unfold,
And waste his energy of mind
In search of gold?
Rise, rise, my soul, and spurn such low desires,
For what are all thy anxious cares,
Thy ceaseless toil?
For what, when roars the wind, thy fears
Lest in the broil
When bursting clouds and furious waves contend,
Fraught with disease to-morrow comes,
From treasured heaps and splendid domes
The dream is o'er: then kiss the chastening rod,
Seek thou, my soul, a nobler wealth,
And more secure:
Content and peace, the mind's best health,
And deeds benevolent, and prayer, and praise,
SONNET ON THE SABBATH MORN.
WITH silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
That scarcely wakes when all the fields are still; A soothing calm on every breeze is borne, A graver murmur gurgles from the rill, And echo answers softer from the hill;
And softer sings the linnet on the thorn; The sky-lark warbles in a tone less shrillHail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn! The rooks sail silent by in airy droves;
The sky a placid yellow lustre throws; The gales, that lately sigh'd along the groves, Have hush'd their downy wings in soft repose; The hovering rack of clouds forgets to moveSo soft the morning when the Savior rose!
THE LILY, AN EMBLEM OF CHRISTIAN HOPE.
How wither'd, faded, seems the form
The careless eye can find no grace,
Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,
Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.
Yes! hide beneath the mouldering heap
O! many a stormy night shall close
And Ignorance, with sceptic eye,
Hope's patient smile shall wondering view, Or mark her fond credulity,
As her soft tears the spot bedew.
Sweet smile of Hope! delicious tear!
The sun, the shower, indeed shall come;
The promis'd verdant shoot appear,
And nature bid her blossom bloom,
And thou, O virgin queen of spring,
Unfold thy robes of purest white,
So faith shall seek the lowly dust
And bear the long, cold, wintry night,
THE FLYING FISH,
AN EMBLEM OF CHRISTIAN VIRTUE.
WHEN I have seen thy snowy wing
As if thy frame were form'd to rise
But when I see that wing so bright
O virtue! when thy clime I seek,
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
A MOTHER'S Love,-how sweet the name! What is a Mother's Love?
-A noble, pure, and tender flame,
Enkindled from above,
To bless a heart of earthly mould;