But, there is yet the great unchanging God, for whose honor and glory all things are and were created, who "spake and it was done," and who has taught us by revelation, that the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll, and the spirit alone remain of man.
The Seasons.
Swift rolls the fast revolving year,
As months and seasons disappear;
And scarce we greet the vernal Spring,
Ere Summer spreads her sultry wing;
And she retires with hasty pace
To give to sober Autumn place;
Who scatters fruits and flowers around,
And then to Winter leaves the ground;
With frost and snow and tempests drear,
He closes each succeeding year.
But though so swift they pass from view,
Each has its portioned work to do.
Spring must unbind the icy chains,
And send the streamlet o'er the plains;
Call the feather'd songsters home,
That far in southern climates roam:
Must bid the springing grass appear,
And daisies crown the bright parterre;
Gently distil her silent show'rs,
And propagate her budding flow'rs;
Thus gathering up her treasures fair,
A gift for Summer, rich and rare.She takes the garland bright and gay,
Fresh from the blooming lap of May:
Unfolds the casings from the flow'rs,
And flings them o'er her sylvan bow'rs;
Brings all their hidden tints to view,
Gives to their leaves a deeper hue:
Sends forth the bee and butterfly,
On downy pinions soaring high,
Or sporting gay from flow'r to flow'r,
Through the short lived Summer hour.
She brings, on every passing breeze,
Some fragrant odor from the trees;
Spreads out rich beauties to the eye,
And softly breathes her gentlest sigh;
That wakes the ripple on the stream,--
That dances in the sun's bright beam.
But summer beauties vanish soon,--
As shadows dim the sun at noon;
And Autumn comes with aspect mild,
Meditation's favorite child.She takes the gift from Summer fair,--
Unbraids the tresses of her hair,
Mellows her fruits, scatters her flow'rs,
And blights the leaves upon her bow'rs,
Then, breathes a mournful sigh around,
And whirls them, wither'd, o'er the ground.Then Winter comes, with tempest wild,
Nature's boisterous, willful child,
To bind the streams in icy chains,--
Drive sleet and snow across the plains;
And howling through the wintry sky,
The drifting winds shriek loud and high.Thus Winter closes every year,
With snow, and ice, and tempest drear.
So human life is but a span,--
A title, portion'd out to man;
A tale, a song, a fev'rish dream,--
A bubble floating on a stream,
A tear, a sigh, a passing breath,--
A meteor, swallow'd up in death.
But though so brief the space we view,
Each has its portion'd work to do:
Youth must unbind and bud the flow'rs,
To bloom o'er manhood's sylvan bow'rs;
He must propel the early shoot,
And ripen it to golden fruit,
And weave a chaplet, rich and rare,
For age to twine around his hair,--
As Faith looks up, with trusting eye,
To brighter worlds beyond the sky.
Dedication in an Album.
Pure, unsullied pages lay before me. How chaste should be the thought, how refined the sentiment here inscribed. May this book be dedicated to Religion, Morality and Virtue, and a deep toned piety pervade the thoughts and emotions here portrayed, which shall find a deep response in your own heart. Like these spotless pages, the mind of youth lays unoccupied, spread out for the reception of the seed committed to its trust. May it be yours to propagate high and holy principles, that shall be watered by the dews of divine grace, ripened by the Sun of Righteousness, and bring forth fruit to eternal life.
As passing years bear away the glad season of youth, and usher in a more mature period, may the traces upon these pages bring back pleasant recollections of dear friends, some, perchance, who may have passed away with passing years, and the hand that now writes may be mouldering in the dust; for disguise as we may, "it is appointed to all men once to die." Those who live well, live in preparation for death.
When in future years your eye glances upon this page, my prayer for your enduring happiness will meet it. May flowers bloom beside your pathway, that never fade.
Sweet flowers beside thy pathway
Are blooming, bright and gay,
Fann'd gently by the zephyr's wing,--
Kiss'd by the sun's warm ray.But soon they fold their withered leaves,
And fade away and die;
But still they shed a sweet perfume,
Where fallen low they lie.But there are flowers, perennial flowers,
That bloom within the mind:
Shedding a fragrance o'er the life,
Leaving perfume behind.Henry, may these adorn your mind,
Religion, Virtue, Truth;
And thus diffuse their odor sweet,
O'er the glad days of youth.They shall not fade, but brighter bloom,
As years are flitting by;--
Cast a sweet fragrance round the tomb,
And bloom in worlds on high.
Lines, Written to Mrs. S----, On the Death of Her Infant.
Thy anxious watchings now are past,
The summons has been given,
Thy gentle one has breath'd her last,
And gone from earth to heaven.Yet do not mourn that she from earth
Thus early passed away;
A pitying Saviour call'd her hence,
To realms of endless day.And she is free from earth-born cares,
Which we must still endure;
Her little dream of life is o'er,
Her crown of glory sure.Though icy death, like winter's shroud,
Surrounds the mould'ring tomb,
Upon the resurrection morn
Eternal spring shall bloom.Mother of angels, softly tread,
Perchance to thee 'tis given,
To hold communings with the dead,
Who live and reign in heaven.And as thy treasures there are laid,
There thy warm hopes will rise;
Thou hast an added golden link
To draw thee to the skies.Thy mission is a holy one:
Thy honor'd husband stands
A watchman upon Zion's walls,
Its standard in his hands.'Tis thine to aid the glorious work,
Thy ransom'd soul may tell
The wonders of a Saviour's love,
Who "doeth all things well."Press onward in thy heav'nly task,
And drink in full supplies
From free Salvation's living springs,
That in the gospel rise.God speed thee, sister, on thy way;
May many souls be giv'n
In answer to thy fervent prayers,
To form thy crown in heav'n.