The Christian Mourner

I saw a dark procession slowly wind'Mid funeral shades, and a lone mourner standFast by the yawning of the pit that whelm'dHis bosom s idol.Then the sable sceneFaded away, and to his alter'd homeSad Fancy follow'd him, and saw him foldHis one, lone babe, in agoniz'd embrace,And kiss the brow of trusting innocence,

That in its blessed ignorance wail'd notA mother lost. Yet she who would have watch'dEach germ of intellect, each bud of truth,Each fair unfolding of the fruit of HeavenWith thrilling joy, was like the marble cold.—There were the flowers she planted, blooming fair,As if in mockery,—there the varied storesThat in the beauty of their order charm'dAt once the tasteful, and the studious hour,Pictures, and tinted shells, and treasur'd tomes,But the presiding mind, the cheerful voice,The greeting glance, the spirit-stirring smile,Are fled forever.And he knoweth all!Hath felt it all, deep in his tortur'd soul,Till reason and philosophy did faint,Beneath a grief like his. Whence hath he thenThe power to comfort others, and to speakThus of the resurrection?He hath foundThat hope, which is an anchor to the soul,And with a martyr-courage holds him upTo bear the will of God.Say, ye who temptThe sea of life, by summer-gales impell'dHave ye this anchor? Sure, a time will comeFor storms to try you, and strong blasts to rendYour painted sails, and shred your gold like chaffO'er the wild wave; and what a wreck is manIf sorrow find him unsustain'd by God.