BY DAVID S. BOGART.—1791.
Almighty King, who reign'st above, Thou art the source of purest love; The splendid heavens thy glories show, Thy wisdom shines in all below; Seraphs before thee humbly fall, Acknowledge thee supreme o'er all; And, wrapt in high transporting joy, Thy attributes their thoughts employ. Shall mortals, then, refuse to join In works so heavenly and divine, Mortals who live and move in thee, And thy continual goodness see; Thou God of Grace, make it my choice In praising thee, to lend my voice; Implant thy fear, infuse thy balm, And make my troubled soul all calm; Teach me the duty of my life, Preserve me from unhappy strife, Conduct me safe through all my days, And keep me in thy peaceful ways. When time is done, and death draws nigh, Then leave me not alone to sigh; Afford thy grace, and cheer my heart, And, sure of heaven, let me depart.
REMINISCENCES.
BY GEORGE D. STRONG.
Oh, who would flee the melody Of woodland, grove, and stream— The hoar cliff pencill'd on the sky By morning's virgin beam; To wander 'mid the busy throng That threads each city's street, Where cank'ring care and folly's glare In unblest union meet?
Emilia! o'er the fleeting hours Thy smile once bathed in light, Fond memory hovers pensively, And joins them in their flight; And lovelier far than sunset's glow, By rainbow beauties spann'd, Comes o'er my soul the joys we stole When first I press'd thy hand.
The south wind, on its joyous way, Came fraught with balmier breath, And frolic life, in thousand forms, Laugh'd at the conqueror Death! Sweet Echo, from the sparry caves, Re-tuned the shepherd's song; And bird and bee, in reckless glee, Pour'd melody along.
The wind-stirr'd grove still prints its shade Upon the streamlet's breast, The red bird, on the chesnut bough, Re-builds its fairy nest; But through the thicket's leafy screen Fancy alone can trace The sparkling eye—the vermeil dye That mantled o'er thy face.
Though since that hour, upon my path Are graven hopes and fears, And transient smiles, like April beams, Have gilded sorrow's tears; From those flushed hopes and feverish joys, My soul with rapture flies To the sweet grove, where faith and love Beamed from Emilia's eyes!