As now, methinks, my fated hour draws nigh, With all its scenes before my vision clear, Why must I take my flight without a tear To dim the lustre of my heav'n-lift eye? Why leave I sweetest joys without a sigh, As though to my blest soul not rich and dear? Is all my love to lov'd ones insincere, That I am calm while other spirits cry? Oh no! I love them; but love others more―― Our common SAVIOR, victim on the tree―― Their Mother and their Sister gone before To heav'n, there ready now to welcome me. Harvests of glorious Good about to reap,―― Dying to enter LIFE,――how can I weep? 62. ON JOHN ROBINSON. I see thee, outcast from thy native shore, Exile from England lov'd, to toil and die; And ne'er didst thou behold our western sky;―― Yet in both lands what name is honor'd more Than thine, O ROBINSON? We hence adore That Providence, which thus uplifts on high The worthy from their deep humility, And makes them stars to shine forevermore. The Truth thou didst discern and didst maintain―― Freedom to worship God――with courage bold, Unaw'd by foes in pow'r and pride arrayed. This claim the world will ne'er forget again, Nor thee forget, its champion of old, But breathe thy noble spirit undismayed. 63. SUDDEN SICKNESS. 1845. As city, near volcanic mountain's brow, When heav'd by earthquake in its strongest wall, Trembles, and seems just tott'ring to its fall; Such seem'd my frame of clay beneath the blow. 'Twas Wisdom's way to make the suff'rer know The lesson oft forgot, needful for all, That fleeting life soon flies beyond recall,―― That heav'nly bliss is nigh or endless woe. One day death's gloom seem'd settling on my head; The next I joyful felt God's arm of might, And rose as one recover'd from the dead. To whom then now belongs my life of right? Thee, Lord, I praise, whose mercies overflow; Thee will I serve with angel's zeal below! 64. ON TRUTH. Of intellectual worlds Truth is the sun, Outpouring on the mind heav'n's purest light, Before which quickly fly all shades of night. And as his daily course the Truth doth run, He sheds a vivifying heat. This done, Each plant of virtue grows up in our sight; But ev'ry vile imposture feels a blight.―― With thee has truth, God's truth, the vict'ry won? Alas! by ev'ry cheat and wicked lie Man is misled, deluded to his woe; And o'er him Satan holds dominion high, Reigning o'er all the wretched race below, Till God doth interpose in wondrous love, On man his Spirit pouring from above. 65. TWO VIEWS OF DEATH.