Some men shudder as they look into a grave; and well they may, some of the world. But the heart is wrong which feels thus. Does the sight of land give pain to the shipwrecked? is the hope of freedom unwelcome at the dungeon? does the sound of waters please in the desert? does the thought of sleep annoy us when weary? does the hope of oblivion give pain when the heart aches? Why then should the thought of what is greater gain than all these come to our hearts, but to waken their holiest emotions?
O! ’tis because there is a power within,
Whisp’ring of good neglected—ill preferred—
Duties cast off, and faculties misus’d!
It is, because the mortal triumphs, while
The purer passions, crushed or rooted out,
Leave him to be enslaved,—and thus in moments
When meditation, like a vestal waits
Upon his heart, the buoyancy and peace
Which should be his, give place to heaviness,