Yet there be vast and dim dominions, Ocean without a shore, Which not the boldest angel-pinions And there be myfteries fathomless, back, One thing we know, that ages Before your earth was made, There rofe a cloud, fo densely black It caft e'en Heaven in fhade. That darkness paft, and light on high But when we looked along the sky, Again the angel-watch was fet But many a face we there had met, God o'er their fate a veil has spread, Nor further may we win; Save of its caufe a rumour dread, That fighed the name of fin. God guard us fafe from aught of ill, In knowledge or in deed! To know His love, to do His will We ask no higher meed. May naught avert the bleffing given HANKINSON. XXXII. DEATH. HE feeble pulfe, the gafping breath, The mourners by our parting bed, The difmal pageant of the dead- But from the much-loved world to part, To dream through life a gaudy dream To meet o'er foon our angry King, O Searcher of the fecret heart, Nor give to hell the victory. Canft thou her bold career foretell, What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend, Her freshening billows fend? * This powerful defcription of untamed fin at its clofing hour will more forcibly remind the reader of that awful hymn by Peter Damian on "the Laft Day," which is given in this collection, than what is ufually found in modern compofitions. Perchance that little brook fhall flow With monarchs at their helm. Even fo, the course of prayer who knows? But streams shall meet it by and bye Their chaunt of many parts. Unheard by all but angel ears Nor dreamed his prayers and tears The while upon his terraced roof Far o'er the glowing western main The faint befide the ocean prayed, Seemed facred in that hour. |