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A WALK TO THE GRAVE-YARD. 83
0, what is time ? An island mid the swell Of an unbounded and eternal flood!
Thou 'rt launching from it—Now, 0! now 'twere well To rest upon the " bosom of thy God!"
A WALK TO THE GRAVE-YARD.
I wander'd forth : the air was still, A blue mist hung around the hill,
And Autumn's sun was low: My pathway through the forest led, And showers of crimson leaves were shed
From every glowing bough.
Musing upon the dying leaf,
The fading flowers' existence brief,
I reach'd the place of graves; Where silence ever reigns profound, Save when, with a low, sighing sound.
The long grass sadly waves.
I read upon the sculptured stone Of those who faded, one by one,
Before their youth had fled: I wept above the loved and lost, Who wither'd 'neath a summer frost,
And with the flowers lay dead!