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I SAW THY FORM.

I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light
Which fleets not with the breath;
And life ne'er looked more truly bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, calmly glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, Mary!

So, veil'd beneath the simplest guise,

Thy radiant genius shone,

And that which charm'd all other eyes
Seemed worthless in thy own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,

Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere;
Or, could we keep the souls we love,

We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,

To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee, Mary!

WHEN IN THE COLD EARTH.

When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence and close it again.
And, oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far

From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam,

Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star

That arose on his darkness and guided him home.

From thee and thy innocent beauty first came

The revealings that taught him true Love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; And, if happiness purely and glowingly smiled On his evening horizon, the light was from thee.

And though sometimes the shade of past folly would rise,
And though Falsehood again would allure him to stray,
He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes,

And the folly, the falsehood soon vanished away.
As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim,
At the daybeam alone could its lustre repair,
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him,

He but flew to that smile and rekindled it there.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Those evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!
Those joyous hours are past away!
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells!
And so 'twill be when I am gone;
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!

THOU ART, OH GOD!

Thou art, oh God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine!
When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven-
Those hues, that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine!

When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine!

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.

This world is all a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given;

The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-

There's nothing true but heaven!

And false the light on Glory's plume,
As fading hues of even;

And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb-
There's nothing bright but heaven!
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,

From wave to wave we 're driven;
And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray,
Serve but to light the troubled way-
There's nothing calin but heaven!

THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

The bird, let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God! from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to thee!
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay

My soul, as home she springs;-
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings!

OH! THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR!

Oh! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee.

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!

Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day

THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE.

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine;
My temple, Lord! that arch of thine;
My censer's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.'

My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murmuring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea,
Even more than music, breathes of Thee!

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like thy throne!
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.

Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining book,

Pii orant tacite.

Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of thy wondrous name.

I'll read thy anger in the rack

That clouds awhile the day beam's track;
Thy mercy in the azure hue

Of sunny brightness breaking through!
There's nothing bright above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of the Deity!

There's nothing dark below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again!

LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE.

Like morning, when her early breeze
Breaks up the surface of the seas,
That, in their furrows, dark with night,
Her hand may sow the seeds of light-

Thy grace can send its breathings o'er
The spirit, dark and lost before,
And, freshening all its depths, prepare
For truth divine to enter there!

Till David touch'd his sacred lyre,
In silence lay the unbreathing wire-
But when he swept its chords along,
Even angels stoop'd to hear that song.
So sleeps the soul till thou, O Lord,
Shall deign to touch its lifeless chord-
Till, waked by thee, its breath shall rise
In music, worthy of the skies!

COME, YE DISCONSOLATE.

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,
Come, at the shrine of God fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish-
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,

Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying"Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot cure."

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