Yet the only hope that cheered me,
Made with joy my bosom swell,
Was the thought that I shall join thee
Where we ne'er shall bid Farewell.
In those realms of happy spirits
We shall ever perfect be ;
Even our Friendship shall be swallowed
Up in immortality.
Soon will the minstrel's song be o'er,
Soon will this heart its throbbings cease ,
Yet why should I the change deplore,
Why tremble at the thought of peace ?
Ere long this hand that guides my pen
Will moulder in the silent grave,
Far from the busy haunt of men,
And o'er my head the green grass wave .
Yet fondly would I wish that when
The change may come, some dear loved friend
May visit me
TO E. W. ON HIS EXILE .
“Then I said , I am cast out of thy sight . "
Oh ! be thine exile such an one as his,
Who once in Patmos lonely island stayed,
Though far from friends, from home and earthly ties,
In converse with his God, his hours beguiled ;
Oh ! who would not to gain such blissful views
Part with e'en Love and Friendship's sweet delight,
Yea who would not a monarch's throne refuse,
And share with joy the exile's lonely lot ;
Yet, think not thou’rt alone, for friends we meet,
And I'll meet thee, at Jesus' mercy seat.
THE EVENING HOUR.
This is the hour when memory wakes
Visions of joys too bright to last;
This is the hour when fancy takes
A survey of the past.
The few we liked, the one we loved,
A sacred band-come pressing on,
And many a friend far hence removed,
And many a pleasing one.
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