O, Take the maddening bowl away! Remove the poisonous cup! My soul is sick--its burning ray Hath drunk my spirit up: Take--take it from my loathing lip Ere madness fires my brain; Take--take it hence! nor let me sip Its liquid death again. O dash it on the thirsty earth, For I will drink no more: It cannot cheer the heart with mirth That grief hath wounded sore; For serpents wreath its sparkling brim, And adders lurk below: It hath no soothing charms for him Who sinks oppress'd with wo. Say not, "Behold its ruddy hue-- O press it to thy lips!" For 'tis more deadly than the dew That from the Upas drips; It is more poisonous than the stream Which deadly nightshade leaves: Its joys are transient as the beam That lights its ruddy waves. Say not "It hath a powerful spell To sooth the soul of care;" Say not, "It calms the bosom's swell And drives away despair!" Art thou its votary?--ask thy soul-- Thy soul in misery deep-- Yea, ask thy conscience if the bowl Can give _eternal sleep_! Then, hence, away! thou deadly foe Of happiness the whole; Away--away!--I feel thy blow, Thou _palsy_ of the soul! Henceforth I ask no more of thee, Thou bane of Adam's race, But to a heavenly fountain flee, And drink the _dews of grace_. FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE. HOPE. For we have not a high priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities: but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Heb. iv. 15. When gathering clouds around I view, And days are dark, and friends are few, On him I lean, who, not in vain, Experienc'd every human pain, He sees my wants, allays my fears, And counts and treasures up my tears. If aught should tempt my soul to stray, From heavenly virtue's narrow way, To fly the good I would pursue, Or do the sin I would not do, Still he who felt temptation's power, Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. If wounded love my bosom swell, Deceiv'd by those I priz'd too well, He shall his pitying aid bestow, Who felt on earth severer wo; At once betrayed, denied, or fled, By all that shar'd his daily bread. When vexing thoughts within me rise, And, sore dismay'd my spirit dies, Yet he who once vouchsaf'd to bear, The sickening anguish of despair, Shall sweetly sooth; shall gently dry, The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Which covers all that was a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me--for a little while-- Thou, Saviour see'st the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.