Then, Home! thou only spot where joy
Is tasted still without alloy;
Where yet are found some ling'ring flow'rs
Of Eden's desolated bowers;
Where soft affection soothes the breast,
And dear, domestic pleasures rest-
How will thy cherish'd image bring
Thoughts that the heart with anguish wring!
How at remembrance of these years
Will vainly flow the gushing tears!
Yet then what thought shall bring relief
And mingle comfort with our grief?
The thought that those we love so well
Now in a home eternal dwell:
A home which we may one day share,
From sorrow free and pain and care.
Cease then to flow, repining tears,
While Hope's celestial form appears.
With smile divine she gilds the gloom,
And lights our passage to the tomb,
And points to that eternal shore
Where we shall meet to part no more!
WHEN evening mist the landscape shrouds,
Or when, half-rob'd in fleecy clouds,
The moon with soft uncertain light
Invests the solemn scenes of night,
New beauties then those scenes display,
They seem much fairer than by day;
For what the doubtful light denies,
Fancy with ready art supplies;
And Fancy can a scene bestow
More fair than nature's fairest show.
When in the air sweet music floats,
How oft the broken distant notes
Create a tune more sweetly wild
Than e'er the list'ning ear beguil'd;
A sound to pensive minds so dear
They never wish the music near.
And whence is this?-'tis Fancy's measure
That fills the raptur'd soul with pleasure;
For Fancy can create a tone
More sweet than e'er on earth was known.
And thus in warm romantic youth
When, true ourselves, we look for truth,
How lovely early friendships seem!
But ah! they vanish like a dream.
In our own mind the picture lay;
We wake, and find it pass'd away.
Fancy, who still the heart deceives,
A veil of bright perfection weaves,
And with affection's power combin'd
Arrays the idol of the mind.
Ah! who can paint, but those who know
The sick'ning bosom's weight of woe,
The anguish of that bitter day
Which tears th' illusive veil away?
Languid and dull each scene appears,
Fast flow the unresisted tears;
Half we resolve, since friendship's vain,
Ne'er to rejoice on earth again.
And dost thou then, O Fancy bright,
Deceive us still with false delight?
Are all thy charms, so priz'd in youth,
Found but in absence of the truth?
Thou airy phantom, vain pretence,
Ah! take thy fond illusions hence;
For know, however fair thou be,
Henceforth I shall beware of thee.
ART thou so soon, sweet infant, laid to sleep
In the cold lap of death, to wake no more ?—
'Tis for ourselves, not thee, that we must weep;
For thee the world no sorrow has in store,
No care;-nor wilt thou ever feel again
The bitter lot of sickness or of pain.
And oh! how blest! Ere sin thy soul could harm, Thou wast borne hence, where faith may thee
Encircled by thy gracious Saviour's arm,
One of the flock within His peaceful fold.
He leads them all, but in His bosom bears
The tender lambsf; such blessedness is theirs.
(For many years a season of pain and sickness.)
O SPRING, how pleasant did thy face appear When life resembled thee in childhood's hours; Thou wast the happiest season of the year,
Gay with thy tuneful birds, and op'ning flowers.
But since that time more dreary days have dawn'd; All mark'd by suff'ring has thy coming been, And I have with " a still small voice" been warn'd To look for bliss beyond the present scene.
Yon thrush that sings upon the well-known bough,
How joyous once I heard his varied strain!
His note reminds me but of sorrow now,
The fev'rish throb, and long, long day of pain.
Yet grieve I not; for happier hours shall smile,
And happiness restor❜d shall safer be;
False views of life no longer shall beguile,
Nor raise the mind to thoughtless ecstacy.
Ah no! I grieve not;-that divine command
To commune with our heart and to be still,"
When earthly comforts at a distance stand,
The silent couch of woe can best fulfil.
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