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The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more? A happier lot than mine, and larger light
Await thee there; for thou hast bow'd thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right,
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ? Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learn'd so ill in thisThe wisdom which is love—till I become Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?
Music on the daters.
With tempests around it and torrents below,
Like airs from the gardens of Paradise blow. 'Tis sweet, as we glide o'er tre cold waves of sorrow,
To think of the loved who have vanish'd before ; We know they are blest; we shall meet them to-morrow;
We pass o'er the deep, and they call from the shore.
The love-lighted waves of the ocean of rest;
They bring us kind words from the Land of the blest. They still the wild billows of trouble around us,
The Eden of Love they unveil to the sight;
POEMS OF CHARACTER,
AND schortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
POEMS OF CHARACTER,
The Good Parson.
Wide was his parish; the houses far asunder;
flock he gave,
Well ought a priest ensample for to give
He never set his benefice to hire,
And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He waited not on pomp or reverence,
The Village Preacher. NEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place; Uupractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast;