« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
'Tis but to him a parent's voice,
That blesses while it blames;
That bids unburden'd air rejoice,
And life and health proclaims.
Night's deepest gloom is but a calm,
That sooths the wearied mind;
The labour'd day's restoring balm,
The comfort of mankind.
O thus may heav'n and holy peace
Smooth soft the rocks of age;
Till thou shalt bid existence cease,
And tear its blotted page:
Till storms no more or tempests rage,
And death's dark vale I see;
That vale, which, through the shadowy grave,
But leads to heav'n and thee!
FAIR Autumn spreads her fields of gold,
And waves her amber wand;
See earth its yellow charms unfold
Beneath her magic hand!
Unrivall'd beauty decks our vales,
Bright fruitfulness our plains;
Gay health with cheerfulness prevails,
And smiling glory reigns.
To thee, great lib'ral source of all,
We strike our earthly lyre;
Till fate our rising soul shall call,
And angels form the choir.
The splendour that enchants our eyes,
Reminds us of thy fame;
The blessings that from earth arise
Thy gen'rous hand proclaim.
The plenty round our meadows seen
Is emblem of thy love;
And harmony, that binds the scene,
The peace that reigns above.
Beneath the sickle, smiling round,
And in destruction fair,
The golden harvest strews the ground,
And shuts the labour'd year.
Man drops into refreshing rest,
And smooths his wearied brow;
With rural peace the herds are blest,
And nature smiles below!
O let thy hand, parental King,
Be open to our pray'rs!
Unlock sweet plenty's lib'ral spring,
And show'r untainted airs.
And send me thro' life's noiseless way,
With innocence my guide:
Let no temptations bid me stray,
And leave her angel side!
O let the bird of tuneful breath,
The beast that frisks on earth,
The fish that sports the wave beneath,
Enjoy their short-liv'd mirth!
Let no rude instrument of fate
Arrest the flutt'ring wing;
No horns re-echo at my gate,
That smiles and slaughter bring;
No quav'ring line, with tortur'd snare In agonizing fraud,
Explore the streams, that flow so fair,
To tempt the wat❜ry lord!
That mercy which to man is giv'n,
So sweet with dewy eyes,
O let it seek its native heav'n,
When gentle pity dies!
HARK! 'twas dark Winter's sullen voice,
That told the glooms that reign'd;
That bad the plains no more rejoice,
And all the waves be chain'd;
And see green Autumn dies away;
The pallid sire is come!
The plains his shiv'ring rules obey,
And ev'ry wave is dumb!
Yet still with cheerful heart I pace
The whiten'd vale below:
And smile at ev'ry printed trace
I leave upon the snow.
Thus (soft I whisper to my breast,)
Man treads life's weary waste;
Each step that leads to better rest
Forgot as soon as past!
For what is life and all its bliss
The splendour of a fly;
The breathing of a morning's kiss;
A Summer's flushing sky.
Dismantled lies the gaudy fly;
Morn droops at evening's frown; And Summer, tho' so gay her eye, Tempestuous terrors crown!
Yes, Lord; but shoots no gladd'ning day
Thro' this nocturnal scene?
Decks not one gem of lively ray
Grief's darksome wave unseen?
How sweet the evergreen beguiles
The gloom of yonder snow!
Thus virtue cheers, with endless smiles,
Life's wint'ry waste of woe.
Howl then, ye storms; ye tempests, beat
Round this unshrinking head!
I know a sweet, a soft retreat
In virtue's peaceful shed!
Drive down, ye hails; pour, snows and winds
Pale terror where I stray !
My foot a path, yet verdant, finds
Where virtue smooths the way!
O Thou, by whose all-gracious hand
The cherub mercy stands,
Smiling at each divine command,
With fondness o'er the lands;
O let me ne'er with marble eye
Pale shiv'ring want reject,
Where mourns the long, the deep-drawn sigh,
The anguish of neglect !
While lordly pride and cushion'd ease
Petition's tear despise ;
O let this hand the mourner raise,
And wipe her streaming eyes!
When death shall call me to my Lord,
To bow beneath his throne;
His praise be the divine reward,
That charity has won.
There, where no wint'ry storms affright,
No tempests shake the pole;
No gloomy shades of dreary night
Appal the waking soul;
There, let me ever hymn, adore,
And love, th' immortal King;
Love, while dread Winter breaks no more
Th' eternity of Spring!
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.
On! thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceiv'd 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 ev'n 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,
One Peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;