Haste on heav'n-ward thy spirit's course, And o'er the desert guide.
Here, rather than 'midst worldly gifts,
I would direct thine eye,
To beam with happiness-and close
With calm hope when you die.
And not for love of mortal man,—
No! daughter of our earth!-
'Tis not the trifles creatures give
To ease thy humble birth,
Can lasting good impart to thee,
Through life's unhallow'd way;
And point thy tender thought to dwell
On themes of endless day!
There is a friendship born on earth,
But fleeting is its ray;
Let not such gloomy paths be thine,
Nor by their streamlets stray.
For none but HE enthron'd in heav'n,
In awful majesty,
Hath love to give, that thou mayʼst share
Through all eternity!
Man's warmest love soon sinks in death,
And there his pleasures end :-
Hence such vain hopes since God is love!
Thy Maker is thy Friend!
THE MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER
DEAR child, how strong doth memory tell,
Of happy hours, ere thou didst dwell
Among our race :-Then was the morn
Of lifetime fair, until a thorn
Sprang up and told, 'The hours thus spent
Were not to last-were only lent
By heaven awhile;' O vanish'd joy!
Then perished every sweet employ,
That marked my childhood-then was flown
The healthful bloom I prized my own.
Ah! child, the enemy was love,
That taught my innocence to rove
From its pure native spot, and soar
For other joys; that shine no more!
Their lustre's fled, their luring charms
Are now no more-since from my arms,
Hath flown my lord-my hope is gone-
That hope, which cheer'd me boldly on,
Now galls the spirit's course, and glides
Reflection's sea on, 'till it chides
The weakness of a breast like mine-
O may such feelings ne'er be thine!
Ne'er rise to mar thee, little star;
Thy dawning's clear, but oh! how far
From this sad hour-this solemn gloom
Of mortal cares-this living tomb!-
Is thy bright beam ?-that glorious change
When thy young soul shall soar, to range
Through yon pure sphere of light above;
And chant the songs of heavenly love?
Ah! it were vain to wish to know,
How soon we leave this earth below;
Yet, if my dying breath might make,
One faint petition for thy sake—
That, thou might find the heavenly road
And mount, and leave this dark abode,
On wings of faith, to gain the other-
Should be the prayer of thy mother!
"There is an hour whose gentle reign,
Repays the day of care and pain."
YES, still the whisp'ring of thy breast,
And bid thy seeming troubles rest;
Such thoughts need not a burden be,
Beloved one!-I think of thee!
I think of thee, when night hath hush'd
Each sigh, and tears, that might have gush'd
From their pure fount; oh! then, to me
How sweet the hour-I think of thee!
For not with trifling joys I prove,
How great the prize, the worth, of love;
A constant pleasure lives with me—
'Tis this, dear one, to think of thee.
In vain, the world may frown and chide,
From friends and foes, and all beside,
I hold my thoughts-and then how free
And peacefully, I think of thee.
I think of moments now gone by,
And think how fast new moments fly;
Then, wondering, ask Eternity—
How near she stands to me and thee?
Then, far beyond the starry skies,
I take my gaze-and hope revives,
While, half-revealed, those realms I see;
And 'midst their throngs, a glimpse of thee!
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