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fOREST MELODIES. |
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There I heard its whispers sweet, Which the zephyrs oft repeat:—" " Let the spring-time of thy years Be as well employ'd as theirs ; Lay the choicest sweets in store, Youth's bright hours will soon be o'er; Cull from all things pure and bright Stores, that may thine age delight."
I heard it in the leafy wood, Amid the dreamy solitude, Where the ancient shadows slept, And the moss of ages crept— As the new green leaves were stirr'd, There its thrilling tones I heard :— " Time, in hurried march may sweep, And oblivion's shadows creep O'er the past—yet from the tomb, Breaking through its deep'ning gloom, Shall a glorious morn come on,— The day of endless life shall dawn !"
WEEP NOT.
When Mary,-o'er her brother's tomb, Was bending low in speechless gloom, The Saviour saw the mourner's grief, And camp to yield her sweet relief: |
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