Had I a firm and lasting faith, Though tempests drive me from the shore, Then if my God requir'd the life Amidst the various scenes of ills, Peace, rebel-thoughts-I'll not complain. Though Heav'n afflicts, I'll not repine : Dear Jesus, smooth that rugged way, Cotton, THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE. FEW are thy days and full of wo, Thy doom is written, Dust thou art, • Determin'd are the days that fly Alas! the little day of life Is shorter than a span; Yet black with thousand hidden ills Gay is thy morning; flattering Hope Before its splendid hour the cloud 'Behold! sad emblem of thy state, "When chill the blast of winter blows, Away the summer flies; The flowers resign their sunny robes, And all their beauty dies. Nipt by the year, the forest fades ; The leaves toss to and fro, and streak 'The winter past, reviving flowers Anew shall paint the plain; The woods shall hear the voice of spring, And flourish green again : But man departs this earthly scene, No second spring shall e'er revive The ashes of the urn. 'Th' inexorable doors of Death 'The mighty flood that rolls along The days, the years, the ages, dark • So man departs the living scene, To night's perpetual gloom; The voice of morning ne'er shall break The slumbers of the tomb. Where are our fathers? Whither gone The patriarchs, prophets, princes, kings, 'Gone to the resting-place of man, Where ages past have gone before, Thus Nature pour'd the wail of wo, Th' Almighty heard: then from his throne And from the Heaven, that open'd wide, When mortal man resigns his breath, And falls a clod of clay, The soul immortal wings its flight, 6 Prepar'd of old for wicked men The just shall enter into bliss Immortal in the skies.' Logan. HUMAN FRAILTY. WEAK and irresolute is man ; The bow well bent, and smart the spring, But Passion rudely snaps the string, Some foe to his upright intent Finds out his weaker part; Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. "Tis here the folly of the wise Bound on a voyage of awful length, But ours alone can ne'er prevail The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. Cowper. |