DEATH OF ST. CLAIR. 'Tis done; no more shall valour crave The pittance due to veteran fame; 'Tis done; the lowly, peaceful grave Hath sealed the hoary warrior's claim. The solemn pomp, the decent sigh Yet, sainted shade, in future day But now, let Fame no trumpet swell, STANZAS. "TO WHOM SHALL WE GO, BUT TO THEE?" WHEN rankling sorrows wound the soul, And cares invade the breast; When distant seems the blissful goal Of peace and lasting rest: Where shall the mourning wanderer go, Where shall the sufferer fly; What balm can heal corroding wo, Whose hand those tears can dry? Say, shall he seek in sounding fame Can echoing praise, or honour's name, Will grandeur, with its dazzling lure, Can pageant pomp, and pride, ensure Doth pleasure, with bewitching guile, Too soon he finds the glance and smile Where shall the mourning wanderer go, What balm can heal corroding wo, Blessed SAVIOUR, 'tis to THEE alone For thou canst soothe the captive's moan, 8* THE JEWISH RETURN. Lo, Judah's courts in sadness mourn, Her shrines with idol incense burn, Her altars are profaned: The temple's pride is cast abroad, And gone, the glory of the LORD, The thistle blooms where Zion's wall The ruined fragments tottering, fall, The scorn of Edom's land: Yet, saith the LORD, my mighty arm Shall raise her ruins high,* My vengeance shall the foes disarm, "The Lord shall gather Jerusalem-he shall build the waste places of Zion." |