They have passed like shadows by That fade in the morning beam, And the sylph-like form, and the laughing eye, Are remembered like a dream; But memory's sun shall set in night Ere my soul forget those forms of light.
THANKSGIVING
AFTER ESCAPE FROM INDIAN PERILS.
BY MRS. ANNE E. BLEECKER.—1778.
Alas! my fond inquiring soul, Doomed in suspense to mourn, Now let thy moments calmly roll, Now let thy peace return. Why should'st thou let a doubt disturb Thy hopes which daily rise, And urge thee on to trust his word, Who built and rules the skies?
When Murder sent her hopeless cries, More dreadful through the gloom, And kindling flames did round thee rise, Deep harvests to consume. Who was it led thee through the wood, And o'er the ensanguined plain, Unseen by ambushed sons of blood, Who track'd thy steps in vain.
'Twas pitying Heaven that check'd my tears, And bade my infants play, To give an opiate to my fears And cheer the lonely way. And in the doubly dreadful night, When my Abella died, When horror-struck—detesting light, I sunk down by her side;
When winged for flight my spirit stood, With this fond thought beguiled, To lead my charmer to her God, And there to claim my child. Again his mercy o'er my breast Effus'd the breath of peace, Subsiding passion sunk to rest, He bade the tempest cease.
Oh, let me ever, ever praise Such undeserved care, Though languid may appear my lays, At least they are sincere. It is my joy that thou art God, Eternal and supreme; Rise, Nature—hail the power aloud, From whom Creation came.