Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/642

ELIJAH EYAN EDWARDS. Elijah Evan Edwards was born at Delaware, Ohio, on the twenty-sixth day of January, 1831. His father was a minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Mr. Edwards enjoyed excellent advantages for early education, and graduated with honor at Asbury University, Greencastle, Indiana, in 1853. He was immediately employed as Professor of Ancient Languages, in an Academy at Brookville, Indiana, and was, in 1856, President of Whitewater College, Centerville, Indiana. In 1857 and 1858, Mr. Edwards was Professor of Ancient Languages in Hamilton University, Red Wing, Minnesota. He is now Principal of Lemont Seminary, Cook county, Illinois. He has written well both in prose and verse, for the National llagazine, New York, for the Ladies' depository and Odd bellows' Casket, Cincinnati, and for various prominent newspapers. LET ME REST. " Let me rest ! " It was the voice of one Whose life-long journey was but just be- gun. With genial radiance shone his morning sun, The lark sprang up rejoicing from her nest, To warble praises in her maker's ear ; The fields were clad in flower-enameled vest, And air of balm, and sunshine clear Failed not to cheer That yet unweary pilgrim ; but his breast Was harrowed with a strange, foreboding fear ; Deeming the life to come, at best. But weariness, he murmured, " Let me rest ! " Inglorious rest ! AVhy should intrepid youth A respite seek from weariness so soon ? Why should he shun the fervid heat of noon ? His course is onward to the Land of Truth, Through many a lonely, many a danger- ous way. And he, to reach that blessed land, for- sooth, Must bear the heat and burden of the day. Its noontide ray, Its gathering storms : not here the land of rest, But o'er the thorny plain, the mountain's crest, To the unresting ones God's peace is given, And bleeding feet tread the long path to heaven. " Let me rest," But not at morning's hour, Nor yet when clouds above my pathway lower ; Let me bear up against affliction's power. Till life's red sun has sought its quiet West, Till o'er me spreads the solemn, silent nisht. ( 626 )