There is a plant that never dies -
'Tis not of earth, but heaven;
'Tis ting'd with pure celestial dyes, Its odors wafted to the skies.
By breeze or tempest driv'n;
'Tis not a tender, fragile thing -
It strengthens with the storm;
And 'midst the…
An hour has passed with lingering pace,
Since, bent in careless musing nigh,
I marked upon thy moss grown face
The noiseless shadow stealing by;
An hour has passed - and wandering back
The fit of vacant idleness o'er,
I see that shade in onward…
How painfully pleasing the fond recollection
Of youthful connections and innocent joys,
When blest with parental advice and affection,
Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high.
I still view the chairs of my sire and my mother,
The seats…
Oh, mother dear, my lips are dry,
And Bessy's hands are cold; -
Mother, dear mother! help me nigh
Your bosom - surely you can hold
Your little boy. I will not cry,
Nor ask again for drink or bread,
If you will only let me lie
Upon your breast,…
WAY-WORN pilgrim, child of fears,Cease thy sorrows, dry thy tears,Earth has pierced thee; - left aloneUrge to heaven that bitter moan.Pilgrim, wanderer, though thou be,Heaven shall soothe thy agony;Soon that pulse shall throb no more;But Heaven has…
What speaks the thunder, when its midnight cry
Rolls through heaven's vast and cloudy palaces?
What writes the lightning on the ebon sky,
When the fierce tempests, wrapped in sackcloth, rise
From their huge cradles, on the roaring seas? What…
"Come with us and we will do thee good." - NUM. x. 29. ------- OH! come with us, the mazy round
Of pleasure hath been tried,
And all her promised joy been found
To pain and guilt allied.
The varied stores of human lore
Have lost their power to…
'Tis evening now - the Sun's last smileSoft on the snowy peaks is flung;And o'er the shadowy dells, the while,The veil of gathering night is hung,Dark, and more deep, the shades come down,And softer glows the fading light,'Till the last beam of day…
WEEP, orphans, weep! - for ye have lost a friend -
Ye widows, shed the tributary tear;
Ye sons of want - come, and in sadness bend
O'er the loved form - now cold and lifeless here;
Weep, captives, weep! - ye sick and injur'd too,
Ye lone and…
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
'Shall I have naught that is fair,' saith he:
'Have naught but the bearded grain?
Tho' the breath of…
