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Innocent teacher of the high
And holy mysteries of Heaven!
How turned to thee each glazing eye,
In mute and awful sympathy,
As thy low prayers were given;
And the o'erhovering spoiler wore, the while,
An angel's features, a deliverer's smile!
A blessed task! and worthy one
Who, turning from the world, as thou,
Ere being's pathway had begun
To leave its spring-time flower and sun,
Had sealed her early vow.
Giving to God her beauty and her youth,
Her pure affections and her guileless truth.
Earth may not claim thee. Nothing here
Could be for thee a meet reward ;
Thine is a treasure far more dear:
Eye hath not seen it, nor the ear
Of living mortal heard
The joys prepared, the promised bliss above,
The holy presence of Eternal Love!
Sleep on in peace. The earth has not
A nobler name than thine shall be.
The deeds by martial manhood wrought,
The lofty energies of thought,
The fire of poesy -
These have but frail and fading honors; thine
Shall time unto eternity consign.
Yea: and when thrones shall crumble down,
And human pride and grandeur fall-
The herald's pride of long renown,
The mitre and the kingly crown--
Perishing glories all!
devotion of thy generous heart Shall live in heaven, of which it was a part !
SIR ROBERT GRANT. The Rt. Hon. Sir Robert Grant, late governor of Bombay, was of one of the most ancient families of Scotland, and was a brother of the present Lord Glenelg. He died in 1838, and a collection of his ** Sacred Poems” was published soon after in London.
O Saviour, whose mercy, severe in its kindness,
Has chastened my wanderings and guided my way,
Adored be the
which illumined my blindness,
And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.
Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair,
I followed the rainbow; I caught at the toy,
And still in displeasure, thy goodness was there,
Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy.
The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below;
The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam;
Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whispered of wo;
And bitterness flowed in the soft-flowing stream.
So, cured of my folly, yet cured but in part,
I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed ;
And still did this eager and credulous heart
Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade.
I thought that the course of the prilgrim to heaven
Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn ;
Thou show'dst me the path ; it was dark and uneven,
All rugged with rocks, and all tangled with thorn.
I dreamed of celestial reward and renown;
I grasped at the triumph which blesses the brave;
I asked for the palm-branch, the robe and the crown;
I asked-and thou show'dst me a cross and a grave.
Subdued and instructed, at length, to thy will,
My hopes and my longings I fain would resign;
O give me the heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine.
There are mansions exempted from sin and from wo,
But they stand in a region by mortals untrod;
There are rivers of joy—but they roll not below;
There is rest—but it dwells in the presence of God.
When gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few ;
On him I lean, who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain.
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
If aught should tempt my soul to stray,
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I would not do ;
Still He who felt temptation's power,
Will guard me in that dangerous hour.
If wounded love my bosom swell,
Despised by those I prized too well ;
He shall his pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer wo;
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.
When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies;
Yet, He, who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
Saviour! when in dust to thee,
Low we bow the adoring knee,
When repentant to the skies
Scarce we lift our streaming eyes, -
O, by all thy pains and wo,
Suffered once for man below,
Bending from thy throne on high,
Hear our solemn litany.
By thy helpless infant years,
By thy life of wants and tears,
By thy days of sore distress
In the savage wilderness,-
By the dread permitted hour,
Of the insulting tempter's power,-
Turn, O turn a pitying eye,
Hear our solemn litany!
By the sacred griefs that wept,
O’er the grave where Lazarus slept,-
By the boding tears that flowed
Over Salem's loved abode,-
By the anguished sigh that told
Treachery lurked within thy fold, -
From thy seat above the sky
Hear our solemn litany!
By thine hour of dire despair,
By thine agony of prayer,
By the cross, the nail, the thorn,
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn,-
By the gloom that veiled the skies
O’er the dreadful sacrifice, -
Listen to our humble cry,
Hear our solemn litany!
By the deep expiring groan,
By the sad sepulchral stone,
By the vault whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God, -
0, from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty reascended Lord,
Listen, listen to the
cry Of our solemn litany!
MR. Bryant was born in Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794. He was educated for the bar, but after passing ten years in the courts he abandoned an uncongenial profession and removed to New York, where, in 1826, he assumed the editorship of the Evening Post, with which he has ever since been connected. He wrote the poem entitled " Thanatopsis” in his eighteenth year, and the annals of literary composition furnish nothing equal to it produced at the same age. Mr. Bryant is unquestionably the greatest poet who now writes in the English language. In 1832 a collection of all the poems Mr. Bryant had then written was published in New York; it was soon after reprinted in Boston, and a copy of it reaching Washington Irving, who was then in England, he caused it to be published in London, where it has since passed through several editions. In 1842 he published “ The Fountain, and other Poems;" in 1844, ** The White-footed Deer, and other Po ems ;" and in 1846, a splendid edition of his complete Poetical Works, illustrated with engravings from pictures by Leutze, was published in Philadelphia by Carey and Hart.
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.”
Ou, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of wo and pain
Are promises of happier years.
There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night ;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.