And there are those all steeped in crime,
    Whose fabric is one constant stain;
  Who fill up their appointed time,
    With conduct vile, and lips profane.

  There are bright streaks of glowing hope,
    And blackened shades of deep despair,—­
  All smiles of joy, all tears of grief,
    Like rainbow dyes are blended there.

  Repentance, with her bitter tears,
    Would wash some dismal crime away;
  And Terror, arm’d with many fears,
    Stands pointing to a future day.

  And Happiness, with sunny smile,
    Weaves in her roses, rich and rare,
  Love, Constancy and Truth, we find,
    And trusting Faith, with humble prayer.

  Vain were the effort to portray
    The varied shades life’s scenes present;
  But oh, how swift the shuttles play,
    By every thought or action sent.

  And so each one is weaving fast
    His little web of human life;—­
  Happy those, who find at last,
    They have conquered in the strife.

  It matters not how short the warp,
    If to the goal the object tend,
  For, oh, we know, “That life is long
    That answers life’s great end.”

Lines, Written in a Sick Room, July 20th, 1855.

  The voice of “many waters”
  Is murmuring on my ear,
  And mingling in the mystic strains
  A mother’s voice I hear. 
  Two white rob’d cherub sisters
  Stand harping by her side;
  A brother in the concert joins,
  Who erst in Jesus died.

  And other sainted spirits,
  Who’ve pass’d from earth away,—­
  Stand wooing me to join their bands
  In realms of endless day. 
  The flow’rs are blooming brightly,
  The tree of life is seen;
  And so inviting stand the fields,
  “Array’d in living green.”

  The Saviour sheds his presence,
  In radiance round the place: 
  And joy and adoration
  Beams bright on ev’ry face. 
  Loud swells the pealing anthem,
  Through the high dome of heav’n,
  “Worthy the Lamb, who once was slain,”
  And hath our sins forgiv’n.

  As thus I gaze enraptur’d,
  And drink heav’n’s spirit in
  Earth’s costliest tow’rs and palaces
  Look faded, worn and dim;
  And death’s cold stream that murmurs
  So hoarsely on my ear;
  If Jesus were my pilot
  I’d cross without a fear.

  But oh! the tide is turning,
  Health flows through ev’ry vein: 
  And I a little longer
  On time’s dark shore remain. 
  But thou, celestial city! 
  I’d keep thee still in view,
  And gladly would the summons heed
  That wafts my soul to you.

To a Friend

  Sweet comes the gentle breath of spring,
    Sighing soft among the flow’rs,
  Or sporting high on airy wings,
    Fanning the leaves upon the bow’rs.