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RESIGNATION. |
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She died—does not her influence seem, Like yonder sun-rays in the west,
Which long upon our vision stream After the sun has sunk to rest ?
The righteous dead ! Ah, unto us.
Their sacred memory is given, To raise the thoughts which cling to dust,
And fix our brighest hopes in heaven !
RESIGNATION.
I 've often wish'd to sleep in death, To yield this fleeting, transient breath ; Early to bid farewell to earth— Its bustling cares and trifling mirth, Its noisy grief, its tinsel'd show, And all these changing scenes below.
I 've wish'd to sleep beside the bed Of those, the loved, the early dead; O, near that spot I long to rest, With the cold earth upon my breast,— Where the sweet rose at Theron's head Would scatter fragrance round my bed.
My soul has long'd to wing her way To those unfading realms of day ; To join that full, harmonious choir, And strike the seraph's burning lyre, |
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