WINTER SONG. Ask me no more, my truth to prove, O'er floods by solid ice confined; Thy rural feast I would provide; The softest moss should dress thy bed, THE ADVENT OF THE MESSIAH. But see! what sudden glories from the sky, And all the gloomy prospect cheer, What awful form approaches nigh, Awful, yet mild, as is the southern wind That gentle bids the forest nod: Hark! thunder breaks the air, and angels speak, Behold the Saviour of the world! Behold the lamb of God! Ye sons of men behold his aspect meek, The tear of pity on his cheek, See in his train appear Humility and patience sweet, Repentance prostrate at his sacred feet, Bedews with tears and wipes them with his flow, ing hair. No more repine my coward soul, The sorrows of mankind to share, Which he who could the world control, Check not the flow of sweet fraternal love, And gradual raise to love divine, And wing its soaring flight to Heav'n! REFLECTIONS BY A FATHER. Tho' sweet the breath of vernal hours, When garlands hang on ev'ry thorn; When ev'ry path is strew'd with flow'rs And opening rose-buds greet the morn. Who knows what blasts may yet arise, However sweet-however gay; The blossom may our hopes betray, It is th' autumnal fruit we prize! Alas! the same precarious fate While the poor child of homelier mien, Who in the corner sits forlorn, Sobs hourly at parental spleen, And eats the bitter bread of scorn: U VERSES, Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during · his solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez. I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, That sages have seen in thy face? I am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Society, friendship, and love, How soon wou'd I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage Religion! what treasure untold Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore, Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. How fleet is a glance of the mind! And the swift winged arrows of light. Soon hurries me back to despair. |