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Teach me to bow submissive to thy will, Let gentle patience pour her healing balmO'er my rack'd heart, bid ev'ry throb be still, And breathe around a pure and holy calm.
Teach this sad heart to know thy mercy sure, That strong and pow'rful is thine arm to save;So shall my soul these utmost pangs endure, And look beyond the confines of the grave.
Then looking heav'nward, with the eye of faith, Where dearer hopes in bright succession rise,Submissive wait, till the strong arm of Death, By thy command, translate me to the skies.
MOONLIGHT SKETCH.
The winds of heav'n are hush'd—and mild—E'en as the breath of slumb'ring child!The western breezes' balmy sighBreaks not the mist-wreaths as they lie,Veiling the tall cliff's rugged brow,Nor dimples the green waves below,Such stillness round—such silence deep—That nature seems herself to sleep!The full moon, mounted in the sky,Looks from her cloudless place on high;And trembling stars, like fairy gleams,Twinkle their many-colour'd beams,
