HOPE AND MEMORY.
Sweet friend of man!—whose airy form,
With eye of azure ray,
Is seen through every gathering storm,
Companion of his way,
Thou, on his infant lip dost press
Thy signet with a smile,
And on through nature's weariness
His pilgrimage beguile.
When disappointments wake regret,
Or dangers threaten loud,
He scarce can shrink, ere thou dost set
Thy rainbow on the cloud.
He scarce can weep, ere thou art nigh
To prism the falling tear,
To snatch the half unutter'd sigh
And paint thy visions clear.
But chiefly, when the dying saint
On his last couch reclines,
When lights of earth are dim and faint
Thy brightest lustre shines.
Thy smile is glorious to his eye,
Thy brow like seraph fair,
Thou point'st his journey to the sky
But may'st not follow there.
Thy friendship soften'd mortal ill
Thy worth was drawn from wo,—
So thou wert nourish'd by a rill
Which there can never flow.
Well pleased wert thou to cheer the toil,
Beguile the short pursuit.
And sow bright seeds in sorrow's soil
That man might reap the fruit.
But when his beating pulse declines,
Thy own is chill and dead,
And ere his resurrection shines,
Thy taper's ray hath fled.
Yet one there is, who braves the blast,
When Hope oblivious sleeps,
Whose glance averted, loves the past,
Whose hand its record keeps.
She gilds no fairy scenes for youth,
No flight with fancy takes,
But in the holy cell of truth
Her meek pavilion makes.
The key she guards, with wary eye,
Where knowledge hides her store,
To conscience gives the unfading die,
Which glows when life is o'er.
The wise, the virtuous love to wait
Within her silent bower,
The thoughtless shun, the fickle hate,
The guilty dread her power.
When death's dark curtain veils the eyes,
Resplendent glows her ray,
And when the unrobed spirit flies
She shares its unknown way.
Through the drear valley hung with gloom,
She bears her guarded scroll,
And spreads it at the bar of doom
While justice weighs the soul.
Dauntless she treads the troubled sphere
Of undefined despair,
And they who stain'd her record here
Must feel her vengeance there.
If Mercy to a glorious land
The pardon'd soul invite,
She hovers round that perfect band
Who dwell in cloudless light.
And oft her tablet's varied trace
Of mortal care and pain,
From angel harps to God shall raise
The loudest, sweetest strain.
Sweet Hope! we bless thy gentle aid
To earth and sorrow given;—
But Memory! dear, immortal maid,
Thy worth is known in heaven.