SONNET IN HIS SICKNESS. Yes, 'twill be over soon.-This sickly dream Yon landscape smile-yon golden harvest grow- They laugh in health, and future evils brave; SONNET TO CONSUMPTION. Gently, most gently, on thy victim's head, And softly go to slumber with the dead. That strains angelic oft foretell the day Of death to those good men who fall thy prey, O let the aerial music round my bed, Dissolving sad in dying symphony, Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear, SOLITUDE. It is not that my lot is low, That bids this silent tear to flow; It is that I am all alone. In woods and glens I love to roam, Yet, when the silent evening sighs The autumn leaf is sear and dead, The woods and winds, with sullen wail, Tell all the same unvaried tale; I've none to smile when I am free, Yet, in my dreams, a form I view ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT. Come, Disappointment, come! Not in thy terrors clad; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; The restless and the bad. But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And, round my brow resign'd, thy peaceless cypress twine Though Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation, in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell That tells her hopes are dead; And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say, "My all was not laid here." Come, Disappointment, come! Though from Hope's summit hurl'd, To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. What is this passing scene? A peevish April day! A little sun-a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away. Man (soon discuss'd) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. O, what is beauty's power? It flourishes and dies; Will the cold earth its silence break, O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. The most belov'd on earth Not long survives to-day; And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet; Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form belov'd is laid. Then, since this world is vain, And volatile, and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Where rust corrupts, and moth destroys, And cares and sorrows eat? Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still? Come, Disappointment, come! Thou art not stern to me; I bend my knee to thee: My race will run; I only bow, and say, "My God, thy will be done!" TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway, Thee on this bank he threw, To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity; in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows And hardens her to bear THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. When marshall'd on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Once on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud-the night was dark; The ocean yawned-and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stemWhen suddenly a star arose: It was the Star of Bethlehem. It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and dangers' thrall, Now safely moored-my perils o'er- Forever and forevermore, The Star-the Star of Bethlehem! A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP. O Lord! another day is flown, And we, a lonely band, Are met once more before thy throne, To bless thy fostering hand. And wilt thou bend a list'ning ear To praises low as ours? Thou wilt! for thou dost love to hear And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign, For thou didst bless the infant train, O let thy grace perform its part, And shed abroad in every heart Thus chasten'd, cleans'd, entirely thine, The Sun of Holiness shall shine In glory on our head. And thou wilt turn our wandering feet, And thou wilt bless our way, Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet TRUE PHILOSOPHY. Blest as you are with the good testimony of an approving conscience, and happy in an intimate communion with the all-pure, and all-merciful God, these trifling concerns ought not to molest you; nay, were the tide of adversity to turn strong against you, even were your friends to forsake you, and abject poverty to stare you in the face, you ought to be abundantly thankful to God for his mercies to you; you ought to consider yourself still as rich, yea, to look around you, and say, I am far happier than the sons of men. This is a system of philosophy which, for myself, I shall not only preach, but practice. We are here for nobler purposes than to waste the fleeting moments of our lives in lamentations and wailings over troubles which, in their widest extent, do but affect the present state, and which, perhaps, only regard our personal ease and prosperity. Make me an outcast-a beggar; place me a barefooted pilgrim on the top of the Alps or the Pyrenees; and I should have wherewithal to sustain the spirit within me, in the reflection that all this was but as for a moment, and that a period would come when wrong, and injury, and trouble should be no more. Are we to be so utterly enslaved by habit and asso |