Thou canst implant the brilliant gem Of thought, in each benighted soul, Till back from radiance so divine The clouds of ignorance shall roll.
Thus shalt thou shed a purer ray O'er each beclouded mind within, Than pours the glorious orb of day On this dark world of care and sin.
Prize you a self-approving mind ? Then lay thine offering here; The clouded orbits of the blind Shall yield a grateful tear.
Would'st thou the blessings of that band Should crowd thy path below ? That hearts, enlighten'd by thy hand, With gratitude should flow ?
And would'st thou seek the matchless love
To God's own children given, A conscience calmly resting 'neath The fav'ring smiles of Heaven?
Then speed thee on in mercy's cause, And teach the blind to see; "Hope springs exulting" in the eye That sorrowing turns to thee.
And warmest blessings on thy head, Full many a voice shall call; And tears upon thy memory shed, Like Hermon's dew shall fall!
And when the last dread day has come, Which seals thine endless doom; When the freed soul shall seek its home, And triumph o'er the tomb;
When lowly bends each reverend knee, And bows each heart in prayer, A band of spirits, saved by thee Shall plead thy virtues there.
THERE's a smile above, and a smile below, In the clouds that roll, and the waves that flow : Is the heart unchain'd by sorrow's thrall, There's a smile of joy and of peace in all ! There's a smile on the brow of the waken'd day, When he gilds the east with his glowing ray, And a smile on his brow when he sinks to rest, Like the saint who expires on his Maker's breast. There are pensive smiles on the evening sky, Which raise the thoughts to the pure and high, Which speak to the soul of its glad release, And tune its quivering chords to peace. The flow'rets ope with the rising sun, And wither and die ere his race is run; Yet a smile is shed o'er their transient bloom, Adorning the path to their early tomb. There's a smile on the brow of the gorgeous spring, When she spreads o'er the valley her radiant wing; As she calms the wild winds with her fragrant breath, And decks the glad earth in her beautiful wreath. There's a smile on the rose, though 'twill cease to bloom; There's a smile on the stream, though the storm may come; There's a smile in the sky, though the clouds may roll, Like sin o'er the depths of the human soul ! Thus, all that is lovely is form'd for decay, But the pure beams of heaven are shed o'er the way. There are varied smiles on a mortal's brow, Which speak of the soul from its depths below;
But they too vanish, when brightest they beam, And bury their light in the world's dark stream. For the heart of man is the throne of guile, And sin can shadow each mortal smile; And the blossoms of light which are planted there, Are weaken'd by passion, or wither'd by care. There's a haughty smile on the conqueror's brow, As the nations of earth at his footstool bow; But that smile is chill as the frozen stream Which glitters pale in the moon's cold beam; It speaks of ambition, of pride, and of sin, Which rankle and swell the dark bosom within. There's a smile on the brow of aspiring man, As he pauses the works of his hand to scan, And gazes far up to that gorgeous height Which is guarded by danger, and terror, and night; But 'tis cold as the bosom from whence it came, And is lost in the splendours of grandeur and fame. There's a beaming smile upon beauty's brow, As the young and the gay at her altar bow; 'Tis brilliant, 'tis dazzling, 'tis passing fair, But the heart in its freshness is wanting there. There's a sunny smile on the infant's lip, As he pauses the cup of enjoyment to sip; But a moment more shall have hurried by, And that smile will fade from his clouded eye; Some childish sorrow, or childish sin, Shall cast its shade o'er the depths within. Then where shall we seek for a perfect smile, If beauty hath sorrow, and youth hath guile? If the clouds of pride and ambition roll O'er the inmost depths of the deathless soul? Oh Nature! the soul is a spark divine, But I turn from its light for a smile of thine; The soul in its greatness must ever endure, But thou, in thy freshness, art holy and pure! Oh, give me the beams of the summer sky, Which gladden the bosom and rapture the eye; Though transient the radiance, though fleeting the smile, They speak not of sorrow, they breathe not of guile!
But light up the tremulous chords of the soul, Its virtues to heighten, its sins to control :
For the soft smiles of nature around us are cast, To light, with their brilliance, the world's dreary waste. To call the lone heart from its sadness away, And shed o'er its darkness a magical ray !
When oppress'd with the cares and the sorrows of life, The spirit turns back from its turmoil and strife, When it longs to be happy, and sighs to be free, Oh Nature, 'tis cheer'd by communion with thee. Though the waters may rise, and the sky be o'ercast; Though rages the tempest, and whistles the blast; Though thy brow may be shaded in darkness and fear, He can read there a lesson to solace and cheer. As the soft rays of sunshine succeed to thy frown; As the rainbow encircles thy brows like a crown; As the tempest rolls off which had reign'd there awhile, And bursts forth in radiance the light of thy smile, So gently the shadows of sorrow depart, And hope dawns again on the desolate heart, And points from thy glories to glories more pure, From thy fast-fading beauties to charms which endure, And leads the rapt soul from its sinful abode, To commune for awhile with its Maker and God. Oh Nature! what art thou ?-a mighty lyre, Whose strings are swept by an angel choir; Whose music, attuned by a hand divine, Thrills a chord in each bosom responsive to thine, And whose gentler strain, as it softly swells, Soothes many a bosom where sadness dwells; While the joyous and happy, the youthful and gay, Pluck the flowers from thy garland and speed on their way. Oh, give me the beams of the summer sky, Which gladden the bosom, and rapture the eye; Though fleeting the radiance, though transient the smile, They speak not of sorrow, they breathe not of guile, But light up the tremulous chords of the soul, Its virtues to heighten, its sins to control.
RECEIVED FROM MISS SEDGWICK.
And thou art fading too, my rose, Thy healthful bloom is fled,
From thy pale flower the leaves unclose, And bows thy pallid head.
I knew how quickly fades away
Each brighter, lovelier thing,
And did not deem that thou couldst stay, Thou fairest rose of spring.
But I have watch'd thy varying hue, As fading hour by hour,
And mourn'd that thou must perish too, My lovely, cherish'd flower.
Oh, 'tis a mournful thing to see
How all that's fair must die ;
How death will pluck the sweetest bud, On his cold breast to lie.
'Tis sad to mark his icy hand Destroy our all that's dear, In silent, shivering awe to stand, And know his footstep near.
Yet 'twere unmeet that thou shouldst live, When man himself must die;
That death should cull each human form, And pass the flow'ret by.
Why do I mourn for thee, my rose, When graven in my heart, I read a deeper sorrow there Than thou couldst e'er impart.
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