I chose not her, my soul's elect, From those who seek their Maker's shrine As if themselves were things divine. Not so the faded form I prize And love, because its bloom is gone; Is all the grace her brow puts on. THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW (Air-STEVENSON.) THIS world is all a fleeting show, The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe, There's nothing true, but Heaven! And false the light on Glory's plume, And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom Poor wand'rers of a stormy day! From wave to wave we're driven, And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, Serve but to light the troubled wayThere's nothing calm, but Heaven! OH, THOU! WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR. (Air-HAYDN.) 'He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”- Он, Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear, The friends, who in our sunshine live. When joy no longer soothes or cheers, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, Did not thy Wing of Love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above? Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright As darkness shows us worlds of light WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. (Air-AVISON.) WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb, And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd it. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,* And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow. From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknownAnd the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd; And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE. (Air-STEVENSON.) THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine; * This second verse, which I wrote 'ong after the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel Bainbrigge, who was married in Ashbourne Church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in a few weeks after; the sound of her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we heard of her death. During her last delirium she sung several hymns in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from the present collection (par ticularly, "There's nothing bright but Heaven"), which this very intoresting girl had often heard during the summer. I'll read thy anger in the rack Of sunny brightness, breaking through. There's nothing bright, above, below, There's nothing dark, below, above, SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL. MIRIAM'S SONG. (Air-AVISON.*) "And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrei in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."-Exod. xv. 20. SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Sing for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave- Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord! Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? * I have so much altered the character of this air, which is from the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, be recognised. † And it came to pass, that, in the morning watch, the Lord looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the cloud and troubled the host of the Egyptians.-Exod. xiv. 24. GO, LET ME WEEP. (Air-STEVENSON.) Go, let me weep-there's bliss in tears, Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew COME NOT, OH LORD. COME not, oh Lord, in the dread robe of splendour Lord, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy nation* While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light, by night to these.-Exod. xiv. 20. |