Come Grief, and sing a solemn dirge
Beneath this midnight shade;
From central darkness now emerge,
And tread the lonely glade.
Attend each mourning pow'r around,
While tears incessant flow;
Strike all your strings with doleful sound,
Till Grief melodious grow.
This is the cheerless hour of night,
For sorrow only made,
When no intrusive ray of light
The silent glooms pervade.
Tho' such the darkness of my soul,
Not such the calmness there,
But waves of guilt tumultuous roll
'Midst billows of despair.
Fallacious Pleasure's tinsel train
My soul rejects with scorn;
If higher joys she can't attain,
She'd rather chuse to mourn
For bliss superior she was made,
Or for extreme despair:
If pain awaits her past the dead
Why should she triumph here?
Tho' Reason points at good supreme,
Yet Grace must lead us thence;
Must wake us from this pleasing dream,
The idle joys of Sense.
Surely I wish the blackest night
Of Nature to remain,
'Till Christ arise with healing light,
Then welcome day again.