THE PILGRIMS ON MOUNT CLEAR. BY BERNARD BARTON. ARTIST! well thy graphic skill Beauty borrowed from our earth; On such MOUNTS DELECTABLE ! Look upon the scene around; Height o'er height with foliage crown'd, Majesty in loveliness! There the foaming torrents leap From the cliffs, and fall in thunder; Here the waters softly sweep Wood-fringed banks in silence under; Gleams of light but fall to lend Grace to spots which ask their aid; Massy shadows only blend To fling round a sweeter shade; Each with each, and all with all, Harmonizing to enthral. Still the beauty these display Speaks of things to pass away! When the pealing trump shall waken By their dreamless, slumbering dead; Earth's firm hills, shall leave them bare; When the elements shall melt, And dissolve in empty air; When the stars from heaven shall fall, Time's brief span of night and day;— Cliffs that rear their crests on high, Where they list, now come and go ;— These, and all of EARTH and TIME, Then shall share one lot sublime; In one destiny shall blend, Know, alike, one common end! Not to gaze on charms so frail, Have those gentle SHEPHERD GUIDES Wish'd their PILGRIM GUESTS to scale This ascent:-though here abides, For its transient day, or hour, Chasten'd rapture must dispense. They have brought them here in love, That through their " PROSPECTIVE GLASS," They may look on things above, Things which yet shall come to pass; Say, what greets their glance on high, Fancy deems them now beholding Scenes of which blest seraphs sing ;- On the golden pavement bright; Countless throngs, thro' glad courts treading, Cloth'd in robes of spotless white ! Thus might Fancy deem; but they Tabernacled yet in clay, Cannot purge their mortal vision, THE EVENING SACRIFICE. CALM is this hallowed hour! And sweet the sacred joy our spirits know, When we approach to that Eternal Power, Before whose footstool thus we love to bow. Lowly we bend the knee Before that God whose arms the world uphold, His mercy boundless, and his love untold. Then, earth, how vain thy toys! How short and momentary all thy bliss! How frail! how transient all thy boasted joys! How sad thy happiest hours compared with this! Saviour of sinners, hear! Beam on our souls with thy divinest light; And guide our loitering, wandering footsteps right. T. A. |