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Around these blacken'd walls they lingering stray,
And trace the mouldering ruins, and exclaim,
With pausing wonder, "Tell us, why was this?"
The burning blush will dye the hearer's cheek,
Grief chain the tongue! Then let oblivion's veil
In deepest folds forever shroud the scene!
Snatch the recording pen, from him who seeks
To make memorial of his country's shame;
From her stain'd annals rend the page unblest;
Break off th' unfinished lay; bid memory sleep,
Or hide her tablet from a future age.
Yet Oh! my Country! Who can hide thy loss?
Forget thy wounds, or mitigate thy woe?
Around is darkness, and within is pain;
Then let us look above! There is a ray
That gleams from thence, an angel voice that cries,
"Lift up the eye of faith; there yet remains
"Hope for the righteous; for the weary, rest;
"For the oppressor, vengeance." Still there reigns
A Judge Supreme, whom nothing can elude.
And though his step is sometimes on the deeps,
Shrouded in darkness, all his ways are peace,
Are wisdom, truth, and mercy. Tho' his throne
Is canopied with clouds, yet the meek eye,
Now drown'd in tears, and dim with mists of time,
Shall see, at last, its base was ever fix'd
On righteousness, and everlasting love.
