86
poems.
Finished! where fell that martyr band?
Where slept that leader with his dead?
To save that proud and storied land,
Brave blood by Sparta there was shed.
Leonidas! thy glorious place
Is 'mid thy country's purest fame.
Nor ruthless time can e'er efface
The memory of thy matchless name.
Where slept that leader with his dead?
To save that proud and storied land,
Brave blood by Sparta there was shed.
Leonidas! thy glorious place
Is 'mid thy country's purest fame.
Nor ruthless time can e'er efface
The memory of thy matchless name.
PARAPHRASE OF THE TWELFTH CHAPTER OF ECCLESIASTES.
In the pure freshness of thine opening spring,
Ere yet the dark days hang around thy way,
Or the soul turns with loathing from the scenes
Which once were joyous to its ardent gaze,
Q! in thy tender years, "remember God."
Ere yet the dark days hang around thy way,
Or the soul turns with loathing from the scenes
Which once were joyous to its ardent gaze,
Q! in thy tender years, "remember God."
To thee the hour will come-when earth, though robed
Still in its primal blessedness and light,
Shall be a darksome blank to thee; the sun,
Dispensing light, and life, and joy around,
Shall bring no light to thee, no life, no joy.
The stars shall keep their pathway bright on high,
Unchanged, unchangeable, until His word,
Who woke from night their glowing radiance,
Still in its primal blessedness and light,
Shall be a darksome blank to thee; the sun,
Dispensing light, and life, and joy around,
Shall bring no light to thee, no life, no joy.
The stars shall keep their pathway bright on high,
Unchanged, unchangeable, until His word,
Who woke from night their glowing radiance,
