ON VISITING THE SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. HAIL, former scenes of childhood's early day, Hail, dear abode; I love the well known place, Where hours of bliss on downy pinions flew; Here by-past years, with pensive thought I trace, For here was peace, here happiness I knew. Beneath that elm, which spreads its rural shade Nor knew of care, nor thought of future pain. See yonder stream whose gentle current flows, Calm and secure, from every threatening storm, Pure as that stream are joys which youth bestows, No grief disturbs, and each fond hope is warm. Ye scenes of sweet, and hallowed early peace, Your halcyon hours I view with pleasing pain; They quickly flew, and saw my joys increase, For then contentment owned its happy reign: Fled are those hours, those hours to me so dear, And naught is left but memory and a tear. AUGUST, 1814. PLEASURE. Is it in wealth? Go, probe the breast Ah, why doth secret wo infest, Is it in fame? Her empty breath, Will blast, anon, the laurel wreath Is it in friendship, or in love? The tears of hapless sorrow prove "Tis not in all that here excels, 'Tis not in folly's round; But with Immanuel's love it dwells, And there alone is found, CLOSE OF THE WEEK. WHILE the solemn note of Time Let me all the past review: Much hath heaven bestowed on me, Much have I to folly given; GOD! what have I done for thee? Nearer to my final hour, Am I sealed with Jesus' blood? Nearer to eternity, Am I nearer to my God? Hasten, pilgrim, on thy way, Gird thee at the martyr's shrine; STANZAS, OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF MR. A OF PORTSMOUTH, N. H. T THERE is a grief, that grief is holy, There is a sweet, a soothing sadness For those whom we shall see no more; Yet mellowed, 'tis allied to gladness, For every toil and tear is o'er. And why should the survivers weep, When those beloved, from pain are free? Why murmur when they cross the deep That shadows forth eternity? |