But, like a lamp, it flickered, and went down ; And wildly swept along that Gothic aisle, And swelled through mouldering arch and towering dome, Till every bosom seemed too full to bear it. It promised pardon to the contrite heart, Peace upon earth, and rest at last in heaven; And journeyed far away to foreign lands, How he had sinned, and suffered, and had said, When sickness, want, and sorrow lay upon him, "I will arise and go unto my father.' وو The strain was hushed: it paused, and then came back, and louder, yet more sweet, it came, "I will arise and go unto my father." And that man of crime! He looked to heaven, "I will arise and go unto my father." And there, before that shrine, he knelt him down, He wept and prayed, was heard and, was forgiven. TO A FRIEND, A YOUNG LADY. SAY, hast thou seen a summer sky, When day's bright beams have gone, And left a mellow radiance there, Where last their glories shone ? And hast thou seen this evening sky That sunset splendor passed away, Night-shadows gathered o'er The spot where all was loveliness; Thus too our joys, our thoughts of bliss, Will pass away, like twilight scenes, 5 * TO THE SAME. - 'Tis sweet to rove, in gladsome hour, From scene to scene, from flower to flower; 'Tis sweet to cast the raptured eye O'er all that smiles so beauteously. The storm may come, the tempest lower, To blast the glories of each flower; Fair maiden! youth's wild garlands round As aught that ever clustered there ! But, should life's storm-clouds meet the brow, Where youth and beauty gambol now, The tempest in its fury may A wreath so lovely tear away. But Heaven will twine a lovelier there, And win its fragrance from the skies. HUMILITY.* I BRING no tale of passion or of war, Of empires wasted or of honor won, Nor yet of genius that ambition fired, Flushed with success and wounded by contempt; A lowlier strain is sweeter far to me, I sing the praises of Humility. Fairest and brightest of the forms that stoop To tabernacle with the sons of men! Thee, from thy dazzling dwelling-place in heaven, I now invoke ! Oh breathe into my soul A hallowed portion of thy own pure spirit, Humility! her home is far away, Beyond the cloud-built mountains of the air, Where God's own majesty doth sit enthroned! * Delivered before the Alumni of Washington College, at Hartford, in August, 1833. For purity and depth of sentiment, for vigor of imagination and power of illustration and description, — and written by a youth who had not made poetry his study, this is a most remarkable production. It was the last piece written by our friend; hastily, and amid the occupation of other duties and it shows how high was the promise of his maturer years. Yet its intrinsic merits are very uncommon. Where meet the principalities of heaven, In the vast presence-chamber of the LORD of Hosts? Should find a worthy welcome only there ? Yet angels and archangels, - cherubim And winged seraphim, all, all have learned The lowly temper of humility. See, where they gathering come, on sweeping wing, Each with a golden crown, and harp more sweet far, far away, As angel's eye can reach, a countless host And all are gathered now before the throne! Oh, who can tell what rapture is in heaven, When all its happy millions meet to praise ? Humility, upon her harp of gold, Hath touched the key-note of heaven's harmonies, And, as it steals upon the ravished ear, You scarce can tell, whether it be not rapture Rather than music. Soft as the latest light of parting day, Sweet as the perfume of the desert rose, |