"I have a message from God unto thee."—JUDGES 8, V. 20.
THAT toll funereal, with appalling sound,
Proclaims some fellow mortal has received
A last momentous "Message from his God."
Which of its hearers next may be addressed,
None are permitted to foresee, but all
Intuitively feel it must be sent ::
From whom, for what, the "high behest" will come,
Demands no casual thought, no light reply.
If to recal the "faithful servant" home,
In his Lord's joy forever to partake,
Or seal the doom of disobedient sloth;
And dash from expectation's towering height,
In the exulting crisis of success,
The schemes of folly, or the plots of guilt.
Life is a talent vested as in charge,
Intrusted, not ensured, to the possessor:
Has little been committed to our care,
And in that little we are faithful found,
Twill meet acceptance like the widow's mite,
And be with tenfold recompence repaid.
But oh! let each remember the decree,
"Where much is given, much will be required."
Have such impoverished or improved their trust,
Presumed their Lord his coming has delayed,
While "slow to anger" he forbore to strike;
Or watched with holy zeal, lest unawares,
The warning sounded in a brother's knell,
Note their own audit at the throne of heaven;
And Death, like the commissioned prophet, bear
An unexpected "Message from their God."
THOUGHTLESS mortal, hither turn!
Life's important lesson learn;
As with the declining sun
I, my silent task have done,
Thou hast but a space to shine,
Make it useful while 'tis thine.
Enter oft this sacred dome!
(Type of an eternal home)
Here, thou mayst the knowledge gain,
How those treasures to obtain,
Which nor "Rust nor Moth" destroy,
Source of everlasting joy.
Has thy sun but 'gan to rise?
Be thou early good, and wise,
Ere temptation clouds thy way;
Danger lurks beneath delay.
But if thou hast to lament,
Closing day, as yet mispent ;
Seize its last allotted ray,
Lest the fading glimpse decay :
Haply lent thee to discern
Duty's path, and yet return.
Look, with reverence, as each tread,
Here reverberates o'er the dead ;'
Look on each surrounding stone,
Sure presagers of thine own;
Nor the awful warning slight,
Till surprized by hopeless night.
HAIL! beauteous orb! to me more pleasing far,
Than the effulgent blaze of splendid noon :
How oft transported have I loved to gaze,
With pious rapture, on thy softened beams,
Mildly propitious to eve's pensive hour.
When sober thought invites us to retreat
From the world's chaos, to the heart's recess,
There, urging by self-intercourse, to weigh
The useful scrutiny, too seldom made,
Of errors, how repented or repaired;
Of duties, how performed to God or Man.
While busy memory's retrospective glance
Unbiassed, numbers thus, transactions past !
Divested of its gloss, deception's mask
Falls, disenchanted by the hand of truth:
And wisest he, who draws from such review
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