And hearts on which has come the early blight, And hopes that never knew aught here but slight, And scattered flowers, and blossoms tossed and shaken, And promises foregone, and trusts forsaken, Still show men's visions false, but still they cherish Dreams of the earth, which only lure to perish.
No glow of life, no ante-taste of heaven, From sordid earth-born thoughts like theirs is given; But disappointment, with its lagging train Of blighted prospects, tells that all is vain; Yet to this earth's allurements fixed, the heart, Like a wrecked vessel, drifts, without a chart. Truth teaches higher hopes, and better things, And o'er the mind a lasting solace brings.
Oh! that the soul on Heaven were ever bent, And all its feelings thitherward were sent! Then would our visions from the world arise, Clear as the sun, and radiant as the skies: Visions of light and love that ne'er decay, No strifes to scare, no terrors to dismay; But peace, unchanging as the Christian's faith-- Peace in our life, untroubled hope in death!
MAN knows he is immortal: there's within A principle that tells him that his soul, Which in himself exists, shall never die, Although his outward tenement becomes, By the slow-wasting chemistry of death, Forgotten, undistinguishable dust. His mind, his heart, his impulses, are all Subservient to his soul, his noblest part, That came from God, returns to God again. If he his passions could o'ercome and sway, Place Prudence as a wary sentinel On all his words and purposes, that trip He might in neither, he were great indeed! But sense and selfishness his judgment warp, And so debase his nature, that, having not Of his own mind the moral mastery, His thoughts, affections, powers, and faculties, Are under the dominion of a yoke More galling than a tyrant's. Slave of Sin!
_Written on viewing the Picture of "The Deluge," painted by F. Danby, Esq., A.R.A._
WE gaze in awe upon the solemn scene, With sense and soul absorbed, as if the sight Were tranced in that o'erpowering vengeful light Which shrouds the setting sun; and what has been A world is now a waste of waters, higher And darker swells the flood, like one vast pall Thrown o'er the guilty ones of earth, Heaven's ire Who braved ere-while.--How fearful, how sublime, How terrible the sight!--widely they climb, To rock and mountain top to 'scape their doom, While rushing torrents, dome and palace hall, The work of man with man himself, consume; Nor these alone! Rock, cliff, and mountain grey, God's handiwork, become with man, their prey!