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WOULDst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.
'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
Its life and beauty ; not when, all unrolled, Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
And thou an angel's happiness shalt know; Shalt bless the earth while in the world above :
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed, that, in these few and fleeting hours,
Thy hands, unsparing and unwearied, sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.
THEN the deliverance comes ! the crimson scroll,
Writ with the madness of six thousand years, Shall be like snow; from heaven the clouds shall roll,
The earth no longer be the vale of tears.
Speed on your swiftest wheels, ye golden spheres, To bring the splendors of that morning nigh. Already the forgiven desert bears
lifts the adoring eye;
Ancient of Days! that, high above all height,
Sitt'st on the circle of eternity! The hour shall come when all shall know thy might,
And earth be heaven, for it shall look on Thee!
Blest be the eye which lives that day to see ! The grave may wrap me ere its glorious sun;
Even, Father, as Thou wilt; but Thou art He That sees the sparrow perish from thy throne. Father, in life or death, thy sovereign will be done.
YE stars, bright legions, that, before all time,
Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what shall tell Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him
Who bade through heaven your golden chariots wheel?
Yet who, earthborn, can see your hosts, nor feel Immortal impulses. Eternity!
What wonder if the o’erwrought soul shall reel With its own weight of thought, and the wild eye See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?
behold the MIGHTIEST. From that steep, What ages have ye worshipped round your King! Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the sleep
Of earth; ye heard the morning angels sing.
Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering, The gaze of Adam fixed from Paradise ;
The wanderers of the deluge saw it spring Above the mountain surge, and hailed its rise, Lighting their lonely track with hope's celestial dyes.
O, LISTEN, man!
Of morning sung together, sound forth still
Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny South! O, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age, released from care,
Might wear out life, like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And, when my last sand twinkled in the glass,