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'Mid things so vast, and, rapt in deepest awe,
Bends to the might of that mysterious Power,
Who holds the waters in his hand, and guides
Th' ungovernable winds. "Tis not in man
To look unmoved upon that heaving waste,
Which, from horizon to horizon spread,
Meets the o'erarching heavens on every side,
Blending their hues in distant faintness there.
"Tis wonderful! and yet, my boy, just such
Is life. Life is a sea as fathomless,
As wide, as terrible, and yet sometimes

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As calm and beautiful. The light of heaven
Smiles on it, and 'tis decked with every hue
Of glory and of joy. Anon dark clouds
Arise, contending winds of fate go forth,
And Hope sits weeping o'er a general wreck.
And thou must sail upon this sea, a long,
Eventful voyage.
The wise may suffer wreck,

The foolish must.

O, then, be early wise;

Learn from the mariner his skilful art

To ride upon the waves, and catch the breeze,
And dare the threatening storm, and trace a path,
'Mid countless dangers, to the destined port,
Unerringly secure. O, learn from him

To station quick-eyed Prudence at the helm,
To guard thyself from Passion's sudden blasts,
And make Religion thy magnetic guide,
Which, though it trembles as it lowly lies,
Points to the light that changes not, in heaven.
Farewell! Heaven smile propitious on thy course,

And favoring breezes waft thee to the arms

Of love paternal. Yes, and more than this

Blest be thy passage o'er the changing sea
Of life; the clouds be few that intercept
The light of joy; the waves roll gently on
Beneath thy bark of hope, and bear thee safe
To meet in peace thine other Father - God.*

* The young person to whom these lines were addressed was accidentally killed by the discharge of his fowling-piece, at Elton, in the county of Huntingdon, (England,) in 1834, at the age of nineteen years. His improvement and virtues had secured the love and esteem of his friends, and filled the hearts of his parents with fond hopes of his future success and honor.

TO MARY.

Salisbury and Vergennes, September 4 and 5, 1828.

DEAR MARY, 'tis the fourteenth day
Since I was parted from your side;
And still upon my lengthening way
In solitude I ride;

But not a word has come to tell
If those I left at home are well.

I am not of an anxious mind,
Nor prone to cherish useless fear;
Yet oft, methinks, the very wind
Is whispering in my ear,
That many an evil may take place
Within a fortnight's narrow space.

'Tis true, indeed, disease and pain
May all this while have been your lot;
And when I reach my home again,
Death may have marked the spot.
I need but dwell on thoughts like these,
To be as wretched as I please.

But no, a happier thought is mine;

-

The absent like the present scene

Is guided by a Friend divine,
Who bids us wait serene
The issues of that gracious will
Which mingles good with every ill.

And who should feel this tranquil trust
In that benignant One above, -
Who ne'er forgets that we are dust,
And rules with pitying love,-

Like us, who both have just been led
Back from the confines of the dead? -

Like us, who, 'mid the various hours
That mark life's changeful wilderness,
Have always found its suns and showers
Alike designed to bless?

Led on and taught as we have been,
Distrust would be indeed a sin.

Darkness, 'tis true, and death, must come;
But they should bring us no dismay;
They are but guides to lead us home,
And then to pass away.

O, who will keep a troubled mind,
That knows this glory is designed?

Then, dearest, present or apart,

An equal calmness let us wear; Let steadfast Faith control the heart, And still its throbs of care.

We may not lean on things of dust;

But Heaven is worthy all our trust.

SONG.

1815.

O, SAY not that love is the light of an hour,
Which fades when youth's wildness is o'er;
It glows with its purest and liveliest power
When beauty and mirth are no more.

I covet the love that will waken and stay,
Like the progress of light from the dawn,
Which opens in blushes, and spreads into day
More bright as the minutes move on.

The face I could love must reflect the fair beam
Of a soul that is lighted from heaven;

Its smile, like the sunshine that glows on a stream,
Forever unruffled and even.

Then sorrow might come, but it would not be dark; That love on the shadows would shine;

And the near hope of heaven, with its rapturous spark, Would lighten and warm our decline.

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