TO THE
MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
In yon lone valley where the cypress spreads
Its gloomy, dark, impenetrable shades,
The mourning Nine, o'er White's untimely grave
Murmur their sighs, like Neptune's troubled wave.
Its gloomy, dark, impenetrable shades,
The mourning Nine, o'er White's untimely grave
Murmur their sighs, like Neptune's troubled wave.
There sits Consumption, sickly, pale, and thin,
Her joy evincing by a ghastly grin;
There his deserted garlands withering lie,
Like him they droop, like him untimely die.
Her joy evincing by a ghastly grin;
There his deserted garlands withering lie,
Like him they droop, like him untimely die.
STILLING THE WAVES.
"And He arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, 'Peace, be still!'"
Be still, ye waves, for Christ doth deign to tread
On the rough bosom of your watery bed!
Be not too harsh your gracious Lord to greet,
But, in soft murmurs, kiss his holy feet;
'Tis He alone can calm your rage at will,
This is his sacred mandate, "Peace, be still!"
On the rough bosom of your watery bed!
Be not too harsh your gracious Lord to greet,
But, in soft murmurs, kiss his holy feet;
'Tis He alone can calm your rage at will,
This is his sacred mandate, "Peace, be still!"
