The unwary to its breast to win,
And whelm unstable souls;
The Sabbath's beacon tells
Of reefs and wrecks below,
And warns, tho' gay the billow swells,
Beneath, are death and woe.
O glorious world! where none
With fruitless labor sigh,
Where care doth wring no lingering groan,
And grief no agony;
Where Sin with fatal arts
Hath never forg'd her chains,
But deep enthron'd in angel-hearts,
One endless Sabbath reigns.
BURIAL OF TWO YOUNG SISTERS, THE ONLY CHILDREN OF THEIR PARENTS.
They're, in this turf-bed—those tender forms,
So kindly cherished, and so fondly loved—
They're here.
Sweet sisters! pleasant in their lives,
And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet
That blooming ones should linger, and learn
How quick the transit to the silent tomb.
I do remember them, their pleasant brows
So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance
Of their mild eyes, when in the house of God,
They gathered up the manna, that did fall,
Like dew, around.
