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THE MOON. |
1G3 |
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Lest the dark storms of sorrow, grief, and woe, The surly blasts that here in darkness blow, Should blight th' immortal part, that fain would rise, He makes us sleep in death, and slumber low, Till softer air breathe o'er our radiant skies, And in eternal Spring these deathless souls aiise.
1S4T.
THE MOON.
How sweetly the moon, in her silvery light,
Looks down on this beautiful scene ! All nature seems smiling more peaceful to-night,
And the earth and the trees are more green. O, the sweet, placid moon! her burnishing rays
Are glad'ning the earth with delight; She has caught those beams from the king of day,
To light up our shadowy night.
Thus, when some earthly attraction shall lend
A charm to our pathway below; When the rays of gladness and hope shall blend
In their brightest and holiest glow ; Thou sweet, placid moon, we will think it like thee!
Though it ravish our hearts with delight, It has borrow'd its beams from the Ruler of day,
From the Fountain of beauty and light!
M. |
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