« PreviousContinue »
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. No: dear as freedom is, and in my hearts Just estimation prized above all price, I had much rather be myself the slave And wear the bonds, than fasten them to him. We have no slaves at home—then why abroad? And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 'That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire; that, where Britain's power. Is felt, mankind may feel her merey to.
IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
The grave is not a place of rest,
Where grief can never win a tear,
The eye that shed the tear is closed,
The heaving breast is cold;
No narrow grave can bold.
The mouldering earth and hungry worm
The dust they lent may claim;
Eternally the same.
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller ever reached that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briers on his road.
For he, who knew what human hearts would prove,.
How slow to learn the dictates of his love;
That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still;
In pity to the souls his grace designed,
The lark has sung his carol in the sky;
The bees have hummed their noou-tide lullaby;
Still ia the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound;
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
A few short years—and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin; The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine: And basking in the chimney's ample blaze, Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled.'
And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
And once, alas! nor in a distant bow,
And such is human life ;—so gliding on,
WALKING WITH GOD.
Oh! for a closer walk with God,
A light, to shine upon the road,