If faith's enraptured vision now be true, He chooses, rather than a seraph's seat, Come we who once beheld his noontide blaze, We may, we must by our own light appear; -The weakest are almighty in his name. What though the great, the good, the glorious fall, He reigns whose kingdom ruleth over all. -Talk not of talents;-what hast thou to do? Thy duty, be thy portion five or two; IN MEMORY OF THE REV. JAMES HARVEY, OF WESTON FAVELL, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, Who died on Christmas-day, 1758, aged forty-three years. COMPOSED ON AN OCCASIONAL CELEBRATION OF HIS VIRTUES AND TALENTS, AT THAT VILLAGE, IN 1823. WHERE is the house for all the living found? -Go ask the deaf, the dumb, the dead; All answer, without voice or sound, Each resting in his bed; Look down and see, Beneath thy feet, A place for thee; -There all the living meet. Whence come the beauteous progeny of spring! From dust and darkness break; Flowers of all hues Laugh in the gale, Sparkle with dews, And dance o'er hill and dale. Who leads through trackless space the stars of night? -The Power that made them guides them still; They know Him not, yet, day and night, They do his perfect will: Unchanged by age, They hold on high Their pilgrimage Of glory round the sky. Stars, flowers, and tombs were themes for solemn thought With him whose memory we recall; Yet more than eye can see he sought: His spirit look'd through all, The truths they teach, Their lessons learn'd, And gave their silence speech. Go, meditate with him among the tombs, In ecstasy, Hear, from heaven's roof, Stars preach eternity. We call him blessed whom the LORD hath blest And made a blessing;-long to shed Light on the living, from his rest, And hope around the dead: Oh! for his lot, Who dwells in light, Where flowers fade not, And stars can find no night. TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE JOSEPH BROWNE, OF LOTHERSDALE, ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS, Who, with seven others of his religious community, had suffered a long confinement in the Castle of York, and loss of all his worldly property, for conscience sake, in the years 1795 and 1796. He was a thoughtful, humble-minded man, and occasionally solaced himself with "Prison Amusements" in verse, at the time when the Author of these Stanzas, in a neighbouring room, was whiling away the hours of a shorter captivity in the same manner. 66 SPIRIT, leave thine house of clay; Dust, be thou dissolved in death!" Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL spoke, "Prisoner, long detain'd below; Prisoner, now with freedom blest; Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL sang, -Ye that mourn a FATHER's loss, Ye that weep a FRIEND no more, Call to mind the CHRISTIAN cross, Which your FRIEND, your FATHER, bore. Grief, and penury, and pain Still attended on his way; And Oppression's scourge and chain, Yet while travelling in distress And along that vale of tears, Which his humble footsteps trod, Still a shining path appears, Where the MOURNER walk'd with GOD. Till his MASTER, from above, When the promised hour was come, Sent the chariot of his love To convey the WANDERER home. Saw ye not the wheels of fire, And the steeds that cleft the wind? Saw ye not his soul aspire, When his mantle dropp'd behind? Ye who caught it as it fell, Bind that mantle round your breast; Yet rejoicing in his lot, Still shall Memory love to weep O'er the venerable spot Where his dear cold relics sleep. Grave! the guardian of his dust, Every atom of thy trust Rests in hope again to rise. Hark! the judgment-trumpet calls— "Soul, rebuild thine house of clay : IMMORTALITY thy walls, And ETERNITY thy day!" |