And there are those all steeped in crime,
Whose fabric is one constant
stain;
Who fill up their appointed time,
With conduct vile, and lips
profane.
There are bright streaks of glowing hope,
And blackened shades of deep
despair,—
All smiles of joy, all tears of grief,
Like rainbow dyes are blended
there.
Repentance, with her bitter tears,
Would wash some dismal crime
away;
And Terror, arm’d with many fears,
Stands pointing to a future
day.
And Happiness, with sunny smile,
Weaves in her roses, rich
and rare,
Love, Constancy and Truth, we find,
And trusting Faith, with humble
prayer.
Vain were the effort to portray
The varied shades life’s
scenes present;
But oh, how swift the shuttles play,
By every thought or action
sent.
And so each one is weaving fast
His little web of human life;—
Happy those, who find at last,
They have conquered in the
strife.
It matters not how short the warp,
If to the goal the object
tend,
For, oh, we know, “That life is
long
That answers life’s
great end.”
Lines, Written in a Sick Room, July 20th, 1855.
The voice of “many waters”
Is murmuring on my ear,
And mingling in the mystic strains
A mother’s voice I hear.
Two white rob’d cherub sisters
Stand harping by her side;
A brother in the concert joins,
Who erst in Jesus died.
And other sainted spirits,
Who’ve pass’d from earth away,—
Stand wooing me to join their bands
In realms of endless day.
The flow’rs are blooming brightly,
The tree of life is seen;
And so inviting stand the fields,
“Array’d in living green.”
The Saviour sheds his presence,
In radiance round the place:
And joy and adoration
Beams bright on ev’ry face.
Loud swells the pealing anthem,
Through the high dome of heav’n,
“Worthy the Lamb, who once was slain,”
And hath our sins forgiv’n.
As thus I gaze enraptur’d,
And drink heav’n’s spirit
in
Earth’s costliest tow’rs and
palaces
Look faded, worn and dim;
And death’s cold stream that murmurs
So hoarsely on my ear;
If Jesus were my pilot
I’d cross without a fear.
But oh! the tide is turning,
Health flows through ev’ry vein:
And I a little longer
On time’s dark shore remain.
But thou, celestial city!
I’d keep thee still in view,
And gladly would the summons heed
That wafts my soul to you.
To a Friend
Sweet comes the gentle breath of spring,
Sighing soft among the flow’rs,
Or sporting high on airy wings,
Fanning the leaves upon the
bow’rs.