When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, HEAVEN. Weep, mourner, for the joys that fade, Like evening lights away; For hopes that like the stars decayed, Have left thy mortal clay; Yet clouds of sorrow will dispart, And brilliant skies be given, And though on earth the tear may start, Yet bliss awaits the holy heart Amid the bowers of heaven, Where songs of praise are ever sung, Weep, mourner, for the friends that pass Into the lonesome grave, As breezes sweep the withered grass Along the whelming wave; Yet though thy pleasure may depart, Knox. LINES, Written by Lord Byron, a few weeks before his Death, on the blank leaf of a Bible. VOL. I. Within this awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries; ON PRAYER. What various hindrances we meet In coming to a mercy-seat! Yet who that knows the worth of prayer, But wishes to be often there? II. Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw, Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw, Gives exercise to faith and love, Brings every blessing from above. III. Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright; And Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees. IV. While Moses stood with arms spread wide, Success was found on Israel's side; But when through weariness they failed, That moment Amalek prevailed. V. Have you no words? Ah! think again, And fill With the sad tale of all your care. VI. Were half the breath thus vainly spent, Your cheerful song would oftener be, Hear what the Lord has done for me.' When late I saw thy favourite child, I kissed it for its mother's sake. I kissed it—and repressed my sighs, But then it had its mother's eyes And they were all to love and me. Fair one, adieu ! I must away; Since thou art blessed, I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay,→→→ My heart again would soon be thine. THE FUTURE. When coldness wraps the suffering clay, But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall: Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all that was at once appears. Byron. |