Lines

Lines

If yon bright stars, which gem the night,

Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,

Where kindred spirits re-unite,

Whom death has torn asunder here;

How sweet it were at once to die,

And leave this blighted orb afar,

Mixt soul and soul to cleave the sky,

And soar away from star to star.

But oh, how dark, how drear and lone,

Would seem the brightest world of bliss,

If wandering through each radiant one,

We failed to find the loved of this;

If there no more the ties shall twine,

That death's cold hand alone could sever;

Ah! then these stars in mockery shine,

More hateful - as they shine forever.

It cannot be - each hope, each fear,

That lights the eye or clouds the brow,

Proclaims there is a happier sphere

Than this bleak world that holds us now.

There is a voice which sorrow hears,

When heaviest weighs life's galling chain,

'Tis heaven that whispers - Dry thy tears,

The pure in heaven shall meet again.

By the late WIlliam Leggett, Esqr.

3:21, p. 4

1839.07.27