Mute, mute is all

O'er beauty's fall, Her praise resounds no more when mantled in

her pall.


The most belov'd on earth,

Not long survives to-day;
So music past is obsolete,
And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet,
But now 'tis gone away.

Thus does the shade

In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloy'd is laid.

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Then since this world is vain,

And volatile and fleet,
Why should I lay up earthly joys,
Where rust corrupts and moth destroys,
And cares and sorrows eat!

Why fly from ill,

With anxious skill, When soon this hand will frecze, this throbbing

heart be still.


Come, Disappointment, come!
Thou art not stern to me ;

Sad Monitress! I own thy sway,
A votary sad in early day,
I pay my court to thee.

From sun to sun

My race will run, I only bow and say, My God, thy will be done!



1 How sweet to the heart is the thought of To

morrow, When Hope's pleasing pictures bright co

lours display! How sweet, when we can from futurity borrow

A balm for the griefs that afflict us to-day!

2 When wearisome sickness has taugbt me to

languish For health, and the comforts it bears on its

wing, Let me hope (oh! how soon it would lessen my

anguish) That To-morrow will ease and serenity bring. 3 When travelling alone, quite forlorn, unbe

friended, Sweet the hope that To-morrow my wan

d'rings will cease; That at home, then, with care sympathetic

attended, I shall rest unmolested and slumber in peace.

4 Or when from the friends of my heart long di

vided, The fond expectation with joy how replete ! That from far distant regions, by Providence

To-morrow will see us most happily meet.

5 When six days of labour each other suc

ceeding, With hurry and toil have my spirits op

press'd, What pleasure to think, as the last is receding, To-morrow will be a sweet Sabbath of rest.

6 And when the vain shadows of time are retiring, When life is fast-fleeting, and death is in

sight, The Christian believing, exulting, aspiring,

Beholds a To-morrow of endless delight:



But the Infidel then !-he sees no To-morrow! Yet he knows that his moments are hastening

away : Poor wretch! can he fecl without heart-rending

sorrow, That his joys and his life will expire with





Tue sun was departed, the mild zephyr blow

ing Bore over the plain the perfume of the

flowers; In soft undulations the streamlet was flowing,

And calm meditation led forward the hours: I struck the full chord, and the ready tear

started, I sung of an exile, forlorn, broken hearted, Like him, from my bosom all joy is departed, And sorrow has stol’n from the lyre all its


2 I pausid on the strain, when fond mem'ry,

tenacious, Presented the form I must ever esteem : Retrac'd scenes of pleasure, alas, how fallacious!

Evanescent all, all, as the shades of a dream. Yet still, as they rush'd thro' oppress'd recol

lection, The silent tear fell, and the pensive reflection Immers'd my sad bosom in deeper dejection, On which cheering Hope scarcely glances a beam.

3 In vain into beauty all Nature is springing, In vain smiling Spring does the blossoms

unfold; In vain round my cot the wing'd choristers

singing, When each soft affection is dormant and cold. E’en sad as the merchant, bereav'd of his

treasure, So slow beats my heart, and so languid its

measure, So dreary, so lonely, a stranger to pleasure, Around it Affliction her mantle hath roll'd.

4 But meek Resignation supporting the spirit,

Unveils a bright scene to the uplifted eye;

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