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Ah ! my dear Lord, how little did I know?
When their mourned loss first fixed my smart.
SONG OF A SPIRIT.
Hark, what I tell to thee,
My spirit wanders free
It waits till thine shall come.
All pensive and alone,
Thy head upon the stone,
I watch thy speaking eyes,
I catch thy parting sighs,
Can I forget our childish days?
When life and love were young When nature's voice the heart obeys,
Ere flattery soiled the tongue: Ah! no—for then I deemed thee true, And life and love to me were new.
Can I forget those childish days?
When every thought of mine,
And in thy look divine:
Can I forget the happy time?
When first I breathed to thee
Of thy answer came like melody,
Ah I no, for memory has the will
To tell us what we were, and still
A record of our fate it is—
A mockery of our wretchedness.
Then since these days no more return,
Since memory still broods o'er the urn
Farewell, and may thine only tear
Be shed upon my lowly bier.
ON THE DEATH OF A CLERGYMAN.
If sorrow's holiest tears could bring
Then might we hope that pity's wing
But all our sorrow is unknown,
In that blessed place where thou art gone.
Farewell! Farewell! beloved shade,—
Long shall thy memory linger here, Till they that loved thee too are dead,
And mingling in another sphere;
Oh! happy was that change to thee,
And life—and immortality—
Displayed thy bright unfading crown!
For thou wert faithful to the call,
Which raised thee as a guide to all.
Well may they weep, who round thee hung,—
For oh that heart is cold,—that tongue
For thou hast joined the hosts above
That triumph through redeeming love!
No more by care and sorrow worn,
The voice reproves each dull delay; And O no more shall they who mourn,
Hear thy kind voice in sorrow's day: And who shall them conduct and guide, On life's tempestuous swelling tide?
'Still trust in God!' onr hearts may hear
The parting words—the last he gave,
Then, may our souls devoutly think,
We're standing on an awful brink,
And moments soon will seal our doom!
Yes! all who mourn his sudden call,
Must soon obey—it speaks to all!
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.