Or see them from their fetters free,
Like silver snakes the meadows thread:
The joy, the life, the hope of earth,
They slept awhile, they were not dead :
Oh, thou, who say'st thy sore heart ne'er
With verdure can again be spread;
Oh, thou, who mournest them that sleep,
Low lying in an earthly bed;
Look out on this reviving world,
And be new hopes within thee bred!
A DEW-DROP falling on the ocean-wave,
Exclaimed in fear “I perish in this grave;"
But, in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew;
And, happy now, the grace did magnify
Which thrust it forth as it had feared
Until again, "I perish quite," it said,
Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed:
O unbelieving! So it came to gleam
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.
WHAT joyful harvester did e'er obtain
The sweet fruition of his hopeful gain,
Till he in hardy labors first had passed
The summer's heat and stormy winter's blast?
A sable night returns a shining morrow,
And days of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow;
The way to bliss lies not on beds of down,
And he that had no cross deserves no crown.
There's but one heaven, one place of perfect ease;
In man it lies to take it where he please,
Above, or here below: and few men do
Enjoy the one, and taste the other too :
Sweating and constant labor win the goal
Of rest; afflictions clarify the soul,
And, like hard masters, give more hard directions,
Tutoring the nonage of uncurbed affections.
Wisdom, the antidote of sad despair,
Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are,
Through patient sufferance; and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end.
To bear affliction with a bended brow,
Or stubborn heart, is but to disallow
The speedy means to health; salve heals no sore,
If misapplied, but makes the grief the more.
Who sends affliction sends an end, and He
Best knows what's best for Him, what's best for me:
'Tis not for me to carve me where I like;
Him pleases when He list to stroke or strike.
I'll neither wish nor yet avoid temptation,
But still expect it, and make preparation :
If He thinks best my faith shall not be tried,
Lord, keep me spotless from presumptuous pride!
If otherwise, with His trial give me care
By thankful patience to prevent despair.
Fit me to bear whate'er Thou shalt assign;
I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine!
Howe'er, let me not boast, nor yet repine;
With trial, or without, Lord, make me Thine!
Drowned! drowned!"- Hamlet.
ONE more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully;
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her,
Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful;
Past all dishonor,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family
Wipe those poor lips of hers,
Oozing so clammily.
Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?
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