Poems (McDonald)/Our Rest
"This is not your rest, it is polluted."
This is not our rest—'tis a region of care,
A land of perplexities, dangers, and fears,
And hearts that are beating with rapture, may share
An hour of transport, with bitterest tears:
And when we look round on life's pathway of ill,
Although it may sometimes seem happy and blest,
Back, back to our bosoms, conviction will thrill,
And everything teach us, this is not our rest.
OUR REST.
"This is not your rest, it is polluted."
This is not our rest—'tis a region of care,
A land of perplexities, dangers, and fears,
And hearts that are beating with rapture, may share
An hour of transport, with bitterest tears:
And when we look round on life's pathway of ill,
Although it may sometimes seem happy and blest,
Back, back to our bosoms, conviction will thrill,
And everything teach us, this is not our rest.
This is not our rest—for the dark wing of grief,
May shadow the sunlight that beamed o'er our home,
And some long cherished idol, like autumn's pale leaf,
Go down to the grave in its beauty and bloom:
Or those whom we trusted would never betray;
And hearts that we prized as the truest and best,
Grow cold and forgetful, and friendship decay
We thought most undying—this is not our rest!
May shadow the sunlight that beamed o'er our home,
And some long cherished idol, like autumn's pale leaf,
Go down to the grave in its beauty and bloom:
Or those whom we trusted would never betray;
And hearts that we prized as the truest and best,
Grow cold and forgetful, and friendship decay
We thought most undying—this is not our rest!
This is not our rest—youthful dreamer, awake!
Believe not that here, thy best moments are given:
The hopes that are brightest will soonest forsake,—
Earth holds not a bliss that should lure thee from heaven:
The song may resound, and the festal be gay,
And beauty seem flattered, or idly caressed:
But the world and its fashion are passing away—
Awake, youthful dreamer, this is not thy rest!
Believe not that here, thy best moments are given:
The hopes that are brightest will soonest forsake,—
Earth holds not a bliss that should lure thee from heaven:
The song may resound, and the festal be gay,
And beauty seem flattered, or idly caressed:
But the world and its fashion are passing away—
Awake, youthful dreamer, this is not thy rest!
This is not thy rest—though a voice may be near,
In some tranquil hour, to whisper of peace;
To promise that life shall be sunny and clear,
And all the wild storms of adversity cease;
That pleasure shall wait on thy steps evermore,—
And thou wilt be always as happy and blest,—
'Tis a voice that hath cheated fond bosoms before,
O trust not the syren, this is not thy rest!
In some tranquil hour, to whisper of peace;
To promise that life shall be sunny and clear,
And all the wild storms of adversity cease;
That pleasure shall wait on thy steps evermore,—
And thou wilt be always as happy and blest,—
'Tis a voice that hath cheated fond bosoms before,
O trust not the syren, this is not thy rest!
This is not our rest—thou on manhood's broad track,
Or toiling in age for life's perishing things,
From its fatal allurements in season turn back,
And plume for the skies, wearied spirit, thy wings:
Each day brings its trials, vexations, and pain,
And vainly thou dream'st of a future more blest;
Alas! it but pictures the present again—
Look upward, look upward, this is not thy rest!
Or toiling in age for life's perishing things,
From its fatal allurements in season turn back,
And plume for the skies, wearied spirit, thy wings:
Each day brings its trials, vexations, and pain,
And vainly thou dream'st of a future more blest;
Alas! it but pictures the present again—
Look upward, look upward, this is not thy rest!
This is not our rest—far beyond the dark tomb,
It rises in beauty more bright than the day;
Its sun never darkened, and fadeless the bloom,
That smiles in a region which knows not decay.
There, the River of Life, its pure waters will roll,
By the mansions of glory, prepared for the blest,
And there with the Saviour, oh! then will the soul,
Enjoy an eternal, unchangeable rest.
It rises in beauty more bright than the day;
Its sun never darkened, and fadeless the bloom,
That smiles in a region which knows not decay.
There, the River of Life, its pure waters will roll,
By the mansions of glory, prepared for the blest,
And there with the Saviour, oh! then will the soul,
Enjoy an eternal, unchangeable rest.