Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/78

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DEPARTED YEARS.
'Tis sweet, amid the vernal grove,
 To hear the thrush's fervent lay,
Or lark, that wings his flight above,
 To hail the dawning of the day.

But sweeter far is maiden's eye
 Upraised to heaven in pious prayer,
When, bathed in tears, she looks on high,
 What sacred eloquence is there!

Oh! sweeter far that sacred name,
 "My Father!" uttered by her tongue;
And sweeter when her heavenly flame
 Ascends in pious, holy song.

Oh! sweet when on the bended knee,
 Her thoughts, her spirit mount above
In pious, deep-felt ecstacy,
 To realms of everlasting love!

Departed Years.
    Knell of departed years,
     Thy voice is sweet to me,
    It wakes no sad, foreboding fears,
    Calls forth no sympathetic tears,
     Time's restless course to see.
        From hallowed ground
        I hear the sound
Diffusing through the air a holy calm around.

    Thou art the voice of Love,
     To chide each doubt away;
    And as thy murmur faintly dies,
    Visions of past enjoyment rise
     In long and bright array.
        I hail the sign
        That love divine
Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine.

    Thou art the voice of Hope!
     The music of the spheres!
    A song of blessings yet to come,
    A herald from my future home,
     My soul delighted hears.
        By sin deceived,
        By nature grieved.
Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed.

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