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When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, And I could dance and sing no more, It then occurred how sad 'twould be Were this world only made for me.
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,
To angel-harp, by angel-tongue.
Weep, mourner, for the friends that pass
Yet though thy pleasure may depart,
Written by Lord Byron, a few weeks before his Death, on the blank leaf of a Bible.
Within this awful volume lies
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.
Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;
While Moses stood, with aims spread wide,
Have yon no words? Ah! think again,
Were half the breath thus vainly spent,
SONG TO INEZ.
When late I saw thy favourite child,
But when the unconscious infant smiled
I kissed it—and repressed my sighs,
Its father in its face to see;
And they were all to love and me.
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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.
When coldness wraps the suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay,
But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
Eternal, boundless, undecayed,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
Shall it survey, shall it recall:
So darkly of departed years,
And all that was at once appears.