412 JEDEDIAH HUNT. [1810-50. Distinct two trunks appear in view, Bless God, beyond Time's sterile shore, And yet, they twain are one. Are orbs that w^ax, but wane no more ; That willow of my home. That willow of my home, For in that world's translucent light Oh, may it live to grace the spot, No shadows cast their deep'ning gloom ; A hundred years to come. But glory's beam, forever bright. Its radiant realms of rest illume ; Such sunny scenes, so sacred, fair, Be mine, to view, eternal there. TO THE QUEEN OF NIGHT. Roll on, stately Queen of Night! Blot out the stars that strew thy way, And, rising up yon azure height, THE HUMAN SOUL. Pour on my head thy less'ning ray ; Broadcast, in nature's wide expanse. My mind enjoys this pensive mood Unnumbered worlds, like gems are set, Of sober thought and solitude. And beam as beacons, to enhance Some dawming glories, distant yet ; Where is the friend with whom I've But in the scale which weighs the whole, strayed. How far transcends one human soul! To tread this old familiar walk, And share the change, alternate made. For, all those worlds may fade away, From grave to gay — by social talk ; And sink in dark, forgetful night ; Beneath the church-yard's added heap. But spirit, " born of endless day," That friend is laid in dreamless sleep. Will flourish in unfading light ; Coeval with the life of Him, How somber peer the distant hills! Who rules the highest cherubim. How calm the aspect of the vale ! This holy hush my bosom fills With love, like some remembered tale ;
Roll on, in solemn silence roll. And rouse the passions of my soul. VOICES OF THE DEAD. To life, a solid peace impart. Although my mortal form is laid In Faith and Hope, give firmer trust, Beneath this church-yard's lonely sod, And nerve this weak and trembling heart The debt was due, it now is paid, To deeds more noble, generous, just; And I'm a king and priest to God. May light from glorious Truth, refine All gross and sordid thoughts of mine. My sleep, how calm — my peace, how Roll down, and cheer the murky west, pure, — The world no more can me molest ; Leave earth alone, to gloom and me, — Though dead to friends, my soul sur- And every breath that heaves my breast. vives Shall be, pale Queen, a theme to thee. In Faith's unclouded clime of rest.
