[THE 'RICH POOR MAN:' A FRAGMENT.]
Now whether he be poor or rich,
Is one to him—he cares not which;
In sweet simplicity he lives,
Happy in what the present gives.
[AN EVENING HYMN.]
Beneath the star-lit skies,
Treading the dew-gemmed sod, I look to Thee,
Father Almighty! and these tearful eyes
Through mortal shadows would thy glory see!
My spirit long hath bent
To earthly idols, while Faith's single eye
Gazing upon the treasures thou hast lent,
Turns from its goal beyond the glowing sky.
Ingratitude hath chilled
Affection's gushing fountain, till it flows
Sluggishly onward, like a stream distilled
Where blackened rocks and gathered sands oppose.
And Hope renews her flight
Only to mourn her desolate return;
Since not beyond the veil of mortal night
She strives the land of beauty to discern.
And Love hath forged its chain—
A glittering band that dazzles to subdue!
The thirsting captives in its lengthened train
Turn from the fount of Heaven to earthly dew!