'Tis not when we look on the dreamless dead, And feel that the spirit forever has fled; 'Tis not when we're called to the voiceless tomb By the loved who were culled in their brightest bloom;...
Bright summer comes, all bloom and flowers, To garland o'er her faded bowers; There's balm and sunshine on her wing, But where's the friend she used to bring? One heart is sad 'mid all the glee,...
In this book I have scribbled some innocent rhymes, In various moods, and at different times; Some grave and some cheerful, some merry, some sad, Though none may be good, there are none very bad.
"Thou great First Cause," Creator, King, and Lord, The worm that breathed at Thy commanding word, And dies whene'er Thou wilt, presumptuous man, Has dared the mazes of Thy path to scan;...
Oh! say, shall those ties, now so sacred and dear, That with rainbow hues tint all our wanderings here, Be regarded no more in that heavenly sphere Whose portal's the grave? ...
The last look is taken, the last word is said Haste away o'er the waves, then, glad tidings to spread; Thy Master has called thee, no longer delay, His work it is glorious, haste, haste thee away....
I thought those youthful hearts were bleak and bare, That not a germ had ever flourished there, Unless perchance the night-shade of despair, Which blooms amid the sunless wilderness. ...
Judge we of coming, by the by-past, years, And still can Hope, the siren, soothe our fears? Cheated, deceived, our cherished day-dreams o'er, We cling the closer, and we trust the more....
Gay visions for thee 'neath hope's pencil have glowed, Peace dwells in thy bosom, a guileless abode; Thou hast seen the bright side of existence alone, And believ'st every spirit as pure as thine own....