STANZAS. 167 Stanzas. FROM THE FRENCH OF DE LAMARTINE. WITHIN my breast I said, O what is life? Shall I still follow those before me gone? Tread the broad way so often travel'd o'er, And man's immortal folly make mine own? One seeks for treasures on the mighty deep His hopes, his vessel, sleep beneath the wave; Another climbs the dazzling heights of Fame, And while resound the echoes-finds a grave. One, with our varied passions, weaves his plot; He founds a throne, and mounts thereon to fall; Another reads his fate in woman's eyes, And fetter'd, dies in Beauty's silken thrall. The sluggard in the arms of hunger sleeps; And whither go they? where the sere leaves go And in the struggle Time is conqueror; more. I sing the Master I adore, amid The city's din, and in the deserts calm; In forest glade, or on the trackless sea, When morning wakes, or evening breathes her balm. The earth demands, Who is the Lord? Tis He Whose soul immense pervades the realms of space; Whose single step measures infinity, By whom the Sun in glory runs his race. "Tis He! it is the Lord! let me repeat I'll shine for Him until He part my frame. THE ANGELS OF GRIEF. 169 The Angels of Grief. WITH silence only as their benediction Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, Yet would we say, what every heart approveth, Our Father's will, Calling to Him the dear ones whom He loveth, Is mercy still. Not upon us or ours the solemn angel The funeral anthem is a glad evangel- God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What he has given; They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As his in heaven. Lines SUGGESTED BY THE SIGHT OF SOME LATE AUTUMN FLOWERS. THOSE few pale autumn flowers, How beautiful they are! Than all that went before, Than all the summer store, How lovelier far! And why? They are the last! The last the last! the last! O! by that little word How many thoughts are stirr'd; The sister of the past! Pale flowers! pale perishing flowers! Ye're types of precious things; LINES. Last hours with parting dear ones, (That time the fastest spends,) Last tears in silence shed, Last words half uttered, Last looks of dying friends. Who but would fain compress The last day spent with one O precious, precious moments! Pale flowers! pale, perishing flowers! I leave the summer rose- Tell me of change and death. 171 |