"Happy is that people whose God is the Lord.”
Why am I undecided? is the prize
Exhibited to view of trifling worth?
And are celestial glories, to my eyes,
Lost midst the busy din of noisy mirth?
Time hurries on with unremitting pace,
Hurrying all ages down its rapid stream;
Youth to its sway must yield each blooming grace,
And own the past is but a fleeting dream.
Now is the time salvation to secure,
No longer loiter, Wisdom gently cries;
But Folly whispers, your salvation's sure.
Lulled by the syren, I forbear to rise,
And though her soft, alluring, treacherous voice
Known fully is, so magic is the spell,
Ephemeral joys so much my mind engross,
Still, I consent within her tent to dwell.
Let me consider well my present state,
Exposed each hour to mortal destiny,
Escape the syren ere it be too late,
Nor any longer undecided be.
Sacred to friendship may this volume be,
And fraught each page with wisdom's purest lore,
Rich intellectual pleasure yield to thee,
And on thy youthful mind instruction pour. Sheltered most sweetly from surrounding ills, Thy buoyant bark floats on Time's restless sea, And hope, sweet hope thy blithesome bosom fills, Nor dreads the tempest that may shortly be.
I would that darksome clouds should never rise,
But gentlest breezes thy whole voyage attend,
But earth affords not such propitious skies,
And thou wilt need a kind and faithful friend.
That friend I would be, blend my fate with thine,
And with thee journey till life's voyage shall end,
Rich wreaths of gladness on thy brow entwine,
Till Time's last wave earth's firmest bands shall rend.
"I thirst not for the meed of fame"
Around my brow "its wreaths to 'twine,
Rather I would inscribe my name
With those accounted friends of thine,
And think that in some future year,
Thine eyes may wander o'er these lines,
And make the present scenes appear
To memory's now furnished mines.
"But where, oh! where are future years?
Down their dark vista who can spy?"
Enshrined alike their hopes and fears,
Their griefs and joys from mortal eye.
But there's a brighter world above,
Thither may we our footsteps bend,
And, 'round the throne of matchless love,
Together endless ages spend.
Embarked on life's momentous, mighty sea,
Life, and immortal joys to lose, or gain,
Important, and once fixed sure destiny,
Zenith of joy; if lost the depth of pain,
Around my pathway Folly's airy train,
Blandishments vain as meteors airy glide,
Exhibit to attract; and then enchain,
And oft their influence o'er my steps preside.
Yet, sacred Wisdom's voice I do revere;
Lit her rich lamp by Heaven's own matchless ray,
Rich intellectual joys her votaries cheer,
Known only to the breast that owns her sway.
Extended is her hand, my bark to aid
Safely across life's all-important sea,
Led by her chart, its every rule obeyed,
Each quicksand shunned, and breasted death's dark wave, I, through rich grace, shall reach the port of rest,
And share immortal joys among the blest.
Among the friendly names,
That clustering appear,
In this fair volume to address
A friend they prize most dear,
With warmest wishes that kind Heaven
Each varied scene may bless,
The name of A-a on this page
Her fingers shall impress.
Deeper inscriptions memory bears
Upon her tablet, true,
Where kind attention's gentle words
Have shed their pleasing hue;
And shall in future years remain,
Should these my portion be,
While memory shall her seat retain,
I shall remember thee.
"In wisdom Thou hast made them all."-Psalmist.
Must these sweet variegated flowers
Resign their most attractive bloom?
Such lovely tints, and fragrant powers,
Sink in oblivion's wasting tomb?
Often upon their charms I've gazed,
Pleased with their varied forms and hues;
How much beneficence displayed!
I said, and goodness how profuse !
A poetess has said, "our King
Could make an earth resembling ours,
Replenished with each useful thing,
And not adorn it with sweet flowers."
What power unlimited can do
Finite capacities ne'er scanned;
Oh! may the thought our wills subdue,
Restrain our wanderings, teach each plan
Devised by Heaven most fit for man.
'Midst all the gay phantoms that flutter around,
And offer to lead you where true joys abound,
Religion, fair hand-maid of wisdom divine,
Gives also inducements to visit her shrine.
Attend at my altar and render your vow,
Rich, unfading laurels I'll bind on your brow,
Even such as will flourish unknown to decay,
Though time's wasting hand sweeps earth's fabric away,
Just as the sun's brilliant meridian light
Asserts its bright triumphs o'er chaotic night,
Ne'er eclipsed in its splendor by aught else we find,
Even such are my glories to the youthful mind.
Sometimes we behold, with a heart-rending sigh,
Cut down as the flowers, our youthful ones die;
Oft wish the survivors would learn from their doom,
Unsheltered's their charms from a like early tomb;
Let wisdom's fair hand-maid conduct to her shrine,
Leave earthly enjoyments for pleasures divine,
And when life's horizon recedes from the sight,
Religion will shed its lustre more bright,
And guide you securely through death's dreary shade,
When earthly enjoyments as phantoms all fade.
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER BIRTH-DAY.
Eighteen years have fled away
Since thine eyes beheld the day;
Since, a candidate for heaven,
Light to thee and life was given.
Eighteen years! how quickly past,
"Like a leaf before the blast,"
Like a meteor's transient gleam,
Like a bubble on the stream;
And future years as fleet as they
Will to oblivion's cells convey
The joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
That wait upon our lengthened years.
But future years may not be thine,
Death may even now thy cypress 'twine,
And ere another year has fled,
Thou mayst be numbered with the dead.
When pensive feelings fill my mind,
My rhymes are of a pensive kind;
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