  "When will the grave fling her cold arms around me, And earth on her dark bosom pillow my head? Sorrow and trouble and anguish, have found me, Oh that I slumbered in peace with the dead! "The forests are budding, the fruit-trees in bloom, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; But my soul is bowed down by the spirit of gloom, I no longer rejoice as the blossoms expand. "And April is here with her rich varied skies, Where the sunbeams of hope with the tempest contend, And the bright drops that flow from her deep azure eyes On the bosom of nature like diamonds descend. "She scatters her jewels o'er forest and lea, And casts in earth's lap all the wealth of the year; But the promise she brings wakes no transports in me, Still the landscape looks dim through the fast flowing tear." Thus sung a poor exile, whom Sorrow had banished From Joy's golden halls, in those moments when care Struck deep in her soul and Hope's sunny smiles vanished, And her spirit grew dark 'neath the scowl of despair. But oh! there's a balm e'en for anguish like thine, And He who permitted the evil has given, In exchange for this lost earth, an Eden divine, Revealing to man all the glories of heaven. Then hush these vain murmurs, arise from the dust, Submit to the hand who the dark chain can sever Of sorrow and sin:—God is faithful and just— Oh seek but his face and be happy for ever! |
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