CXLI. THE wintry winds have ceased to blow, And hail the infant year. So when the world, and all its woes, Are vanished far away, Fair scenes and wonderful repose "Tis but a sleep,-and power divine Shall call the many dead; 'Tis but a sleep-and then we sing O'er dreams of sorrow fled. Yes! wintry winds have ceased to blow, And trembling leaves appear; And Nature has her types to shew As Ocean rolls its billows to the shore, CXLIII. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies, How gently heaves th' expiring breast! So fades a summer-cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day; So dies a wave along the shore. Its duty done, as sinks the clay, ANOTHER year is swallowed by the sea Of sumless waves! Another year, thou past Eternity! Hath rolled o'er new-made graves. They open yet to bid the living weep, Where tears are vain; While they, unswept into the ruthless deep, Why are we spared? Surely to wear away, By useful deeds, Vile traces, left beneath the upbraiding spray, Of empty shells and weeds. But there are things which time devoureth not: Thoughts whose green youth Flowers o'er the ashes of the unforgot; And words, whose fruit is truth. Are ye not imaged in the eternal sea, Things of to-day? Deeds which are harvest for eternity, CALL them from the dead For our eyes to see; Shook the earth, "Thus saith the Lord," And made the idols flee A glorious company! Call them from the dead For our eyes to see: Sons of wisdom, song, and power, A glorious company! Call them from the dead Forms of beauty, love, and grace, That made it life to be- Call them from the dead Vain the call will be; But the hand of Death shall lay, On eyes which then shall see That glorious company! |