[ HYMN FOR THE DEAD]
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away! What power shall be the sinner’s stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day?
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead!
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be Thou the trembling sinner’s stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!
[ THE POPLAR FIELD]
The poplars are fell’d; farewell to the shade, And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade! The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew; And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade!
The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene where his melody charm’d me before Resounds with his sweet flowing ditty no more.