A West Indian

A West Indian

O, how inestimably dear,

The sweet possession of a friend!

What can we find of all that are,

From which such bliss, such joys descend!

Riches may purchase for awhile

The sycophant's fallacious grace -

But when Fortune has ceased to smile,

When needed most, he turns his face.

But a true friend more brightly shines,

In adversity's gloom day:

Like metal which fire refines,

And rough operation display.

Farewell, dear friend, a true farewell -

Though our mutual visions fail,

Let remembrance oft our image tell-

Let oft the silent tear bewail.

Until, obtain'd the blissful shore,

On Zion's holy hiss we meet -

United now to part no more,

Eternally at Jesus' feet.

And so, when storms and tempests rise,

And nought but gloom and horror round,

Our Heavenly friend, with watchful eyes,

And helping hands, is ever found.

Great God! - Almighty over all,

Whilst in oppression's land I stay,

Be around be a brazen wall -

Be a buckler of defence, I pray!

Till though appear to claim thine own,

Thy jewels fair - thy chosen sheep,

Descending from thy august throne,

Down Heaven's bright, etherial steep.

They shall call upon the rock,

The hills to hide them from thy wrath;

Who now destroy thy little flock,

They all shall shake with fear, alas!

As when a storm obscures the skies,

But flies before the King of day,

So as thy glorious presence rise,

Their haughty pride shall melt away.

There is a lake, prepar'd by thee,

That ever burns with liquid flame;

Here shall they weep eternally,

Who hate thy light, and love their shame.

Here mercy, with forgiving love,

Never comes with her healing aid;

But despair, woe, and horror move,

Like fiends, fierce in the dolorous shade!

Unattributed

1:28, p. 2

1837.07.15

MR. CORNISH, - The lines below were first suggested by the kindness of a friend, who, in affliction's darkest hour, when want assailed me with all its meagre train, and the dark waves of despair rose around, did opportunity, with his kind assistance, lift me from the depth of woe. The latter part is excursive reflections, written in an idle hour, to amuse and pass the vacant time. If these should meet your critic observation, and if you think they may be substantial evidence as being the production of one of the oppressed, you will oblige me much to inscribe them in your very worthy paper.