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Or peace to man, or judgments dire,
Stranger of heav'n, I bid thee hail !
Where hast thou roamed these thousand years?
Why sought these polar paths again ? From wilderness of glowing spheres,
To fling thy vesture o'er the wain?
And when thou climb'st the milky way,
And vanishest from human view,
Through wilds of yon empyreal blue.
Oh, on thy rapid prow to glide !
To sail the boundless skies with thee ! And plough the twinkling stars aside,
Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea.
To brush the embers from the sun ;
The icicles from off the pole ; Then far to other systems run,
Where other moons and planets roll!
Stranger of heav'n ! O let thine eye
Smile on a wild enthusiast's dream : Eccentric as thy course on high,
And airy as thine ambient dream.
And long, long may thy silver ray
Our northern vault at eve adorn; Then, wheeling to the east away,
Sweep the grey portals of the morn !- OGG.
Composed by the late BISHOP OF CALCUTTA, and always sung on
New Year's Day, by his desire.
As o'er the past my mem'ry strays
Why heaves the secret sigh ?
Still unprepared to die.
The world and worldly things beloved
My anxious thoughts employed ;
Presents a fearful void.
Yet, Holy Father ! wild despair
Chase from my lab’ring breast;
That grace can do the rest.
My life's brief remnant all be thine !
And when thy sure decree
O speed my soul to Thee!
Life; a poem.
The morning arises, the noon fleets away,
The sun shines above him, there's music around; The flow'rs are in bloom, and the earth is as blest, Like a babe when it sleeps mid the sweets of the
ground, Or toys with the blossoms which pillowed its rest. The heart of the pilgrim in unison swells, And life seems a bow'r full of fragrance and mirth He hears not the voice of his conscience, which tells There's a spoiler and waster which travels the earth;
That the bud of his joys, so luxuriant in bloom,
Thus existence fleets on, and the startled grow dumb, When Death in deep darkness sweeps solemnly by, And speaks, as the hour of his triumph may come, Thou hast lived—thou hast loved—now turn thee,
Sonnet to a Child.
A rosebud opening, pearled with morning dew,
Through the young foliage glancing, light and free
A gentle fountain gushing joyously
Of the still heav'ns, or beacon on the sea;
Fair promise of Time's yet unmeasured space; But be thy bloom more durable than the flower's!
Thine all that fountain's purity and grace!
And may no blight fall on their hopes, who trace
Waking unearthly dreams. O may'st thou be
On the Death of a little Girl Five
Sweet little flow'r thy bloom is fled,
O'er the cold tomb.
Around thee now in vain
beam The summer's ray and winter's gleam; No sun can pierce the slumb'rer's dream
In earth's dark womb.
But yet on thee a sun shall rise
Or beauty's ray ;
A light, that on thy spirit breaking,
Rise into day.
Then why the night of sorrow here,
Of vain regret!