HOURS OF REFLECTION.
Events upon events roll
In strange confusion round the soul:
There is no happiness or joy
Unfollowed by a deep alloy:
Where'er the laugh or smile may be,
There is a tear for misery.
And hours of gladness bring to view
Some rankling sorrow with them too;
And mind, beneath each care and woe,
Sinks gradually beneath the blow;
And each returning sorrow brings,
And leaves behind, its train of stings,
Until the soul, so worn in grief,
Finds death the only sure relief;
And with a faint, life-leaving sigh,
Man's soul is wafted up on high;
And angels bear again to God
A soul—the sunbeam of the sod.
Oh, man! if earth were all to thee,
Thy measure of eternity,
And no pure scene of heavenly bliss
To raise thy soul from dross in this,
The boon of life I would not crave—
A whirl of nothings, to the grave:
But when we feel a God is nigh—
The master-spirit of the sky—
And know that one all-perfect plan
Rules, guides, directs, and comforts man,
We feel that Time was made to be
The preface to Eternity:
And man's ennobled feelings rise,
To find a shelter in the skies:
And earth-born feelings sink to rest,
'Neath bright religion's holy crest.
Oh! blessed thought, for man to find
The soul is an undying mind,
That hies to regions brighter far
Than any world-adorning star,
Or all of beauty thought could ever
Concentrate in one whole together.
In strange confusion round the soul:
There is no happiness or joy
Unfollowed by a deep alloy:
Where'er the laugh or smile may be,
There is a tear for misery.
And hours of gladness bring to view
Some rankling sorrow with them too;
And mind, beneath each care and woe,
Sinks gradually beneath the blow;
And each returning sorrow brings,
And leaves behind, its train of stings,
Until the soul, so worn in grief,
Finds death the only sure relief;
And with a faint, life-leaving sigh,
Man's soul is wafted up on high;
And angels bear again to God
A soul—the sunbeam of the sod.
Oh, man! if earth were all to thee,
Thy measure of eternity,
And no pure scene of heavenly bliss
To raise thy soul from dross in this,
The boon of life I would not crave—
A whirl of nothings, to the grave:
But when we feel a God is nigh—
The master-spirit of the sky—
And know that one all-perfect plan
Rules, guides, directs, and comforts man,
We feel that Time was made to be
The preface to Eternity:
And man's ennobled feelings rise,
To find a shelter in the skies:
And earth-born feelings sink to rest,
'Neath bright religion's holy crest.
Oh! blessed thought, for man to find
The soul is an undying mind,
That hies to regions brighter far
Than any world-adorning star,
Or all of beauty thought could ever
Concentrate in one whole together.