Thoughts [pp. 722-723]

72 Thuhs [NVMBR
and a countless number of bright stars are my companions.
Is it not a strange truth, that the moon has nightly performed
her circuit in heaven for six thousand years? When the
morning stars sang together with joy at the birth of creation,
she ascended her cerulean throne, and has reigned the
queen of night ever since. She was there when Nineveh
the great was humbled. She saw all the cities of old, when
they were drunken with excess of pleasure and pride; and
she looked upon them and smiled when their glorious
crests were in the dust. Kingdoms and nations have risen
and departed, yet she has remained unchanged. When her
sister, the Star of Bethlehem, led the way to the birth-place
of our Saviour, she heard the song of gladness which An gels and Archangels sung in the presence of God.
How fitting an hour this is to muse upon the littleness
of man! What is human life? That bubble on the ocean wave is its emblem. As I look forward through the gloom
of years, which of the world's,best gifts shall I strive to
win? Shall it be fame? No! the applause of men will
neither clothe nor give me sustenance. Shall I be the slave
of my fellows merely to be the possessor of gold?-for that
wealth, which, as soon as I am gone, will be divided among
those who despised me while living? I had rather be a
beggar than become rich by the base means of flattery and
hypocrisy. Shall I endeavor to become powerful? Why,
I am but a worm. No, no! none of these things do I
desire.
When I am summoned to the grave, I only wish a few
dear friends to remember me, until they in their turn shall
follow me, as one who loved his fellow-men. I desire the
wealth and peace of a contented mind; and the power to
rule as a responsible governor the citadel of my heart.
A star has just fallen from heaven. As it went down into
the abyss of darkness, so does man fall from the zenith of
his glory into the grave. How beautiful are the passages
in Scripture which allude to the uncertainty of life! Who
does not remember the parable of the ten virgins? "And at
midnight there was a cry made: behold the bridegroom
cometh; go ye out to meet him." How few of this slum bering multitude have their lamps trimmed and burning!
How great would be the confusion, were the voice of the
bridegroom (death) to enter all these dwellings! The mi ser, roused from his couch of straw, would press his gold
to his bosom with a convulsive grasp, while a fiendish smile
would pass across his haggard brow. The sinner would
awake trembling at the sight of hell-for even then its realities would rush upon his mind. The Christian, with the
calmness~ of conscious rectitude, would deck himself, and go
into the street to meet the bridegroom. There too is that
beautiful "Vision of Mirza," which also illustrates the
shortness of life. The great bridge which he saw is still in
existence; and it is sad to think of the thousands that have
fallen through unprepared into the dark waters beneath. I
have as yet passed on in safety, but many of my travelling
companions are gone. May it be they have been thrown
on some hospitable shore. The beautiful islands which
Mirza saw far beyond the bridge and deep valley are still
attainable: but we must first live a virtuous life, and pass
through the portals of the grave. Yes! these bodies must
first say to corruption, "thou art my mother; and to the
worm, thou art my brother and sister." How powerful is
death! Who can resist his chilly hand, or refuse to quaff
the cup of" coal black wine" when it is held forth by him?
"It is death alone that can make man to know himself.
He tells the proud and insolent that they are but abjects,
and humbles them at the instant. He takes the account of
the rich man and proves him a beggar. He holds a glass
before the eyes of the beautiful and makes them see therein
their own deformity, and they acknowledge it. O! eloquent, just, and mighty death! whom none could advise
thou hast persuaded; what none have dared thou hast ac
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Thoughts.
[NovEmBEP.,
complisbed; and whom all the world have flattered thou
alone hast despised: thou hast drawn, together all the farstretched greatness, all the pride and cruelty of man, and
covered it all over with these two words-hicjacet."
But enough. Reader-if you are not already asleep, one
thing is certain, you oug-ht to be. I bid you therefore a heartfelt good night, hoping that your dreams will be not of
King Death, but of a land where his jurisdiction does -not
come, and that is-Heaven.
11 Good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
I could say good night till it be morrow."
IVew York, September, 1840.
THOUGHTS.
0 why should man alone be cheerless,
When Nature smiles so gay around him?
0 why should all save man be tearless,
When sorrovv's shadoay spell has bound him?
The sun shines fair on grove and hill,
But not on me can fall its brightness:
My hopes are dark-my heart is chill,
And beats without its wonted lightness.
On Pleasui-e's stream I cast my boat The swelling sails by Folly driven:
But soon the bark, too frail to float,
Was shatter'd by the storms of heaven.
And I must mourn o'er wasted time,
And hours to roving fancies givenHours pass'd in folly-not in crime, The slighted, fleeting gifts of heaven.
And now that time and chance have flown,
And clouds and darkness gather o'er me;
And friends I vainly deem'd my own
Have melted like yon mist before me;
And one more lov'd than all the rest,
To whom my very thou'hts were known,
Who shar'd each secret of my breast
As'freely as it were her own
She too has fled. Is all then lost?
0 no! so7ne hearts on earth remain,
As changeless as the sainted host
I That heaven's high palaces contain.
My mother-dost thou love me yet,
As erst in childhood's spotless bow'rs?
0 mother-carist thou e'er forget
The weakness of my wayward hours?
My mother-I have lovld thee well My mother, I do love thee still:
And in my bosom oft doth swell
The thought that I have done thee ill.
Mother-I know thou wilt forgive
The follies of thine erring child:
In hz's own mem'ry will they live
To sting him; ev'n when thou hast smil'd.
And thou too, Mary: in thy dreams'While angels round thy pillow hover0 do their fitful, changing themes
Recall at times thy wand'ring lover?
Thou art the star, whose guidiiig light
Thro' passion's rocks has steer'd my way:
The idol of my dreams at night The beacon of my thoughts by day.