Grew dark to me,-'twas mine to shun To hold communion with the dead. Hark! 'twas a whisper from the tomb :"Why, suff'rer, wilt thou ling'ring stay? Doth parent earth deny thee room, Now all thy joys are pass'd away? Grief, disappointment, doubt, dismay, Unhallow'd love, and rage severe, Disturb'd us thro' life's feverish day, But cannot break our slumber here." I've seen in heav'nly visions bright Those seats where blessed spirits dwell; Eternal fields of living light, Such as no mortal tongue may tell; And in the lowest depths of hell Of angels who did once rebel- Will peace ne'er charm my breast again? I frantic cried-and breath'd a pray'r, When darting swift across my brain I ask'd of pitying heav'n to die; Defied the bolt that thunder'd by. I've thought that in a brittle bark On some lone shore, or rocky steep, Would that the soul might sleep in dust, And with her mortal part expire— What! shall th' Eternal prove unjust? Vain, selfish, impotent desire ! For me suspend his dreadful ire? For me his sword of vengeance sheathe? My heart is wrung, my brain's on fire, Att. Be calm, for 'tis thy hour of death, Be calm, nor spend thy lab'ring breath In ravings wild-a little more, And thou shalt reach that unknown shore Seek Him whose pow'r alone can saveYes, while thou canst, thy sin deplore : There's no repentance in the grave. O listen to the Saviour's voice- My promise, Sinner, sets thee free.- Pen. O Thou, before whose throne I kneel, These stubborn eyes have learn'd to weep. Bear me above, ye heav'nly choir, To where yon sounds celestial ring! Hark! 'tis an angel strikes the lyre, I mount on Hope's exulting wing, What floods of glory meet my eyes !— Att. 'Tis past, and death hath lost his sting: - The Soul hath reach'd her native skies. INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALBUM. HASTE thee hither, Sisters three, Music, chauntress, that was born And, with never-fading hue, Poesy, companion meet, Making solitude more sweet, |