102
Poems.
The world seems falling from its sphere,
Trembling beneath the blow;
Wildness and darkness, dread and fear,
A gloomy aspect show.
But, hark! what sound salutes our ears,
With joy our bosoms fill,
Dispelling all our doubts and fears,
And whispers, "Peace, be still!"
Trembling beneath the blow;
Wildness and darkness, dread and fear,
A gloomy aspect show.
But, hark! what sound salutes our ears,
With joy our bosoms fill,
Dispelling all our doubts and fears,
And whispers, "Peace, be still!"
'T is He, the Ruler of the storm,
Whose power, waves obey;
Whose holy voice, whose sacred form,
The elements doth stay.
So He, who stills the raging sea,
And calms the troubled air,
Can bid all grief and sadness flee,
And give relief from care.
Whose power, waves obey;
Whose holy voice, whose sacred form,
The elements doth stay.
So He, who stills the raging sea,
And calms the troubled air,
Can bid all grief and sadness flee,
And give relief from care.
STANZAS.
They tell me that the fairest flowers,
The soonest fade and die;
And that our very happiest hours,
Pass like a south wind's sigh.
The soonest fade and die;
And that our very happiest hours,
Pass like a south wind's sigh.
