264 HYMN TO DEATH. And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill To offer at thy grave-this-and the hope copy thy example, and to leave A name of which the wretched shall not think Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust. Now thou art not--and yet the men whose guilt Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look "EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." EARTH'S children cleave to Earth--her frail Decaying children dread decay. Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale, It lingers, as it upward creeps, And clings to fern and copsewood set From hold to hold, it cannot stay, And in the very beams that fill The world with glory, wastes away. And that which sprung of earth is now TO A WATERFOWL. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way! Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, Though the dark night is near. TO A WATERFOWL. And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, Will lead my steps aright. M 2 267 |