Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/On the Anniversary of the Death of a Venerable Friend
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF A VENERABLE FRIEND.
PAST was the day, and all its varied scenes
Had sunk to rest. Now came the twilight grey
With weary step; and then the queen of night,
With graceful motion, and with brow serene,
Smil'd on the eye. But soon her faded cheek
All pale and alter'd sunk behind the cloud:
Thence rising slowly, with a sickly look
And glance averted, fled with hasty step
To hide her head among the shades of night.
Now all is gloom and darkness. Emblem fit
Of human joys, that dazzle on the sight,
Then fade, and vanish, and are seen no more.
And yet, in such a silent hour as this,
So calm and placid, the full soul delights
To dwell on what is past, or most of all
To hold sweet converse with some absent friend
Belov'd, departed, and beheld no more.
To such a friend my pensive spirit flies,
It seeks her in the tomb. Worn with the cares
Of this hard life, and weary with the weight
Of more than fourscore years, her head reclines
Upon the couch, which nature has prepar'd
For all her sons. White were her scatter'd locks
With the cold snows of age, and deep her brow
Was furrow'd with the heavy touch of care,
Before these eyes had open'd on the light.
But yet no boasted grace, or symmetry
Of form or feature, not the bloom of youth,
Or blaze of beauty, ever could awake
Within my soul that pure and hallow'd joy
So often felt when gazing on that eye
Now clos'd in death. Nor could the boasted pomp
Of eloquence, which seizes on the brain
Of mad enthusiasm, emulate the theme
So often flowing from those aged lips,
To point the way to heaven. O guide belov'd,
And venerated and rever'd in life!
But thou art not; and many a year has past
Since I beheld thee, though my heart retains,
No dearer image; when that heart has sunk
Beneath the sorrows of this wayward clime,
Pierc'd with its thorns, and sick'ning at its snares,
Then has thy spirit, in the placid light
Of memory, seem'd to rise, and whisper peace;
Or in the doubtful visions of the night
Mild gleaming, bid the mourner not to droop.
'Twas ever thus; for ah! thou wert a friend
When first the journey of my life began,
And to thy last and agonizing gasp
That friendship fail'd not. Thou didst love to sooth,
And dry the causeless tear of infancy,
That dimm'd an eye just waking on the light;
And thou would'st join amid the sports and mirth
Of giddy childhood, bending low to hear
The long recital of those joys, and pains,
That swell or sink the little fluttering heart.
Small were the woes which then would force the sigh
From the rent bosom, for the strength was small
Giv'n to support them. When with heedless step
I first began to tread the flowery maze
Spread for the foot of youth, how kind the voice,
That warn'd of snares, and dangers, unperceiv'd,
That taught to shun the beaten track of vice,
And love the path of duty, love the way
Of meekness and of mercy, not to prize
That loud applause which captivates the ear
And cheats the heart; but seek to follow Him,
Whose pure and spotless words will lead the soul
To better mansions, and a better life.
These were thy words, O meek and lowly saint!
But thou art taken from me—thou art gone
Far from my sight, and never must my ear
Receive the music of thy voice again.
Much I could mourn that thou art absent now,
For much I need thy counsel and thy love,
And oft I find my wayward footsteps stray
From the blest boundary of that narrow path
Leading to life. But yet an higher pow'r,
A nobler principle, forbids to mourn
That thou art taken from me, since my loss
Is thine eternal gain: for so I trust
That in the realm of joy thou art at rest.
Oh, may I meet thee in the cloudless light
Of that bright world, which no unhallow'd eye
Or mortal passion ever shall pollute.
Were we assur'd this glory would be ours,
How should we bless the hour of our release,
Which seals the lips in silence, dims the eye,
And lays the pale cheek in the dust of death;
Unbinds the spirit struggling to be free,
And points it homeward to its Father, God.