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364 FOREST MELODIES. |
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And give me the wealth of affection and love, To cheer my rough pathway below,—
What to me would the gold of the universe prove, If no spirit with mine should glow ?
April, 1818.
THIS IS NOT MY REST.
" Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest." Micah ii, 10. ■
Now I turn with heart-strings bleeding To my blessed Saviour's breast,
While my earthly hopes receding Warn me this is not my rest.
Has my spirit been too ardent
In its searchings after bliss, That, for this, a note discordant
Should arise to mar my peace ?
Strange my soul should be forgetting
That its rest is not below, When it has so long been wetting,
With its tears, my track of woe !
Oft have I, in wildest dreaming, Almost deem'd each sorrow fled,
While I felt the blissful gleaming Of some new light o'er me shed.
Earthly pleasures—0 ! their fleetness Startles suddenly my heart; |
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