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The cavern's depth or echoing grove,-
The morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold, As careless of the noontide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold. Nipp'd by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parch’d by the sun's directer ray, The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away. So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows; Fairer than spring the colors shine,
And sweeter than the virgin rose :
Till, worn by slowly rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day, The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.
Yet these, new rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine;
Safe from diseases and decline.
Let sickness blast, let death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains;
If firm the word of God remains.
UPON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
Ah me! these youthful bearers, robed in white,
THE FAMILY IN HEAVEN AND EARTH.
'T is but one family !--the sound is balm,
A seraph-whisper to the wounded heart; It lulls the storm of sorrow to a calm,
And draws the venom from the avenger's dart. 'Tis but one family !-the accents come
Like light from heaven, to break the night of wo, The banner cry, to call the spirit home,
The shout of victory o'er a fallen foe. Death cannot separate-is memory dead?
Has thought, too, vanish'd? and has love grown chill? Has every relic and memento fled ?
And are the living only with us still ?
Objects of love and ever fresh delight;
In half-seen transports past the mourner's sight Yes! in ten thousand ways, or far or near,
The call’d by love, by meditation brought, In heavenly visions yet they haunt us here,
The sad companions of our sweetest thought. Death never separates—the golden wires
That ever trembled to their names before, Will vibrate still, though every form expires,
And those we love we look upon no more.
No more indeed in sorrow and in pain,
But even memory's need ere long will cease. For we shall join the lost of love again,
In endless bands, and in eternal peace.
FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Roll down their golden sand;
From many a balmy plain,
Their land from error's chain.
What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
And only man is vile:
The gifts of God are strewn,
Bows down to wood and stone.
Shall we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Salvation ! O, salvation !
The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation
Has learn’d Messiah's name.
Waft, waft, ye winds, his story,
And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole: Till o'er our ransom'd nature
The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss return to reign.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Still seem as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that optics teach unfold
Thy form to please me so, As when I dream'd of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?
When science from creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,