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RELIGION.
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF MY PRAYER-BOOK.
hen Misery’s tear and Sorrow’s sigh
Oppress the feeling mind,
Say—where for refuge shall we fly?
And where a refuge find?
The morn of life may open fair,
And charm the view awhile;
The world around us then may wear
A universal smile;
But Life’s a transitory scene,
Its prospects all are vain;
The bosom that now beats serene,
Too soon may throb with pain.
Though Pleasure Youth’s gay hours adorn,
The wayward heart to please,
’Tis fleeting as the dew of morn,
’Tis fickle as the breeze.
Uncertain is our mortal breath,
On swiftest wings it flies;
