A slow disease insensibly consumed The powers of nature; and a few short steps Of friends and kindred bore him from his home (Yon Cottage shaded by the woody crags) To the profounder stillness of the grave. -Nor was his funeral denied the grace Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief; His name, and unambitiously relates How long, and by what kindly outward aids, And in what pure contentedness of mind, The sad privation was by him endured. -And yon tall Pine-tree, whose composing sound And, at the touch of every wandering breeze, Murmurs, not idly, o'er his peaceful grave. Soul-cheering Light, most bountiful of Things! Guide of our way, mysterious Comforter! Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and heaven, We all too thanklessly participate, Thy gifts were utterly withheld from Him What terror doth it strike into the mind To think of One, who cannot see, advancing But, timely warned, He would have stayed his steps; Not more endangered than a Man whose eye But each instinct with spirit; and the frame "A noble-and, to unreflecting minds, A marvellous spectacle," the Wanderer said, 66 Beings like these present! But proof abounds And charity; nor last nor least for this, A type and shadow of an awful truth, How, likewise, under sufferance divine, Darkness is banished from the realms of Death, By man's imperishable spirit, quelled. Unto the men who see not as we see Futurity was thought, in ancient times, To be laid open, and they prophesied. And know we not that from the blind have flowed The highest, holiest raptures of the lyre; And wisdom married to immortal verse?" Among the humbler Worthies, at our feet Lying insensible to human praise, Love, or regret,whose lineaments would next A Team of horses, with a ponderous freight Pressing behind, adown a rugged slope, Whose sharp descent confounded their array, Here," said the Pastor, " do we muse, and mourn The waste of death; and lo! the giant Oak Stretched on his bier!-that massy timber wain; Nor fail to note the Man who guides the team." He was a Peasant of the lowest class: Grey locks profusely round his temples hung "A Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays The Pastor answered. "You have read him well. Year after year is added to his store With silent increase: summers, winters-past, |