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If Chance awaked, inexorable power!
This frail and feverish being of an hour,
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep,
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep,
To know Delight but by her parting smile,
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;
Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain!
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom!
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb!

Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind,

But leave - oh! leave the light of Hope behind! What though my wingéd hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few, and far between!

Her musing mood shall every pang appease,

And charm when pleasures lose the power to please! . . . .

When, 'reft of all, yon widowed sire appears
A lonely hermit in the vale of years;

Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow
To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Wo?
No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu,-
Souls of impassioned mould, she speaks to you!
Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain,
Congenial spirits part to meet again!

Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie,
But that which warmed it once shall never die!
That spark unburied in its mortal frame,
With living light, eternal, and the same,

Shall beam on Joy's interminable years,

Unveiled by darkness

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unassuaged by tears!

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be,
The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee!
If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell,
If that faint murmur be the last farewell!
If fate unite the faithful but to part,
Why is their memory sacred to the heart?
Why does the brother of my childhood seem
Restored awhile in every pleasing dream?
Why do I joy the lonely spot to view,

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By artless friendship blessed when life was new? Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began but not to fade.

When all the sister planets have decayed;

When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow,

And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; Thou, undismayed shalt o'er the ruins smile,

And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!

Epes Sargent.

MOUNT HOPE.

ODE DELIVERED AT THE CONSECRATION OF THE CEMETERY OF MOUNT HOPE, NEAR BOSTON.

Not in this green retreat

However beautiful, while Summer launches

Her odors and soft airs through swaying branches ;

Though wild flowers court our feet,

And though the wild birds capture

The listening sense with their melodious rapture,

Not here, not here, my friends,

Let us believe the loved one shall repose,

Or that life's true receptacle descends

To the dark mould, where sods above it close, And the immortal with the mortal blends!

Let not despair or sensual distrust

Confound this mouldering dust

With the true person - with the inner form,
Which gave the outward all it had of fair;
Which is no kindred of the worm,

No warrant for despair!

Not here, my soul, not for one moment here,
Sinks the pure life-spring of one generous tear;
Of one heaven-aimed affection,

One tender recollection,

One deed of goodness in seclusion wrought,
One lesson, or one thought!

As water rises to its fountain-head,
However low you lay its transient bed,
So must the spirit, from its earthward course,
Mount to the Deity, which is its source!

We give the infant, who to walk is learning,
His leading strings ;

mer;

corks to the doubtful swim

So are these bodies, for our brief sojourning,

Helps to us here, while schooled in being's primer.

For here, in God's stupendous seminary,

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What various lore the thoughtful eye engages!
Morning and night the seasons as they vary,
Spread for our use illuminated pages.
If all were ours unearned, what need of action?
If God no problem set for our unfolding,

Where were the joy, the power, the benefaction

Of toil, and faith, and prayer, our spirits moulding? Where were the innocence, without temptation? Where, without freedom, were the self-denial ?

Where were the goal, the triumph, the salvation,
Without the doubt, the danger, and the trial?
And though to some the fairer lot be given,
Unstained, because untried, to enter Heaven,
O doubt not there is compensation ever
From Him, the just and unforgetting Giver!

If then the Saviour's promise and example
Be an assurance ample,

Let us not say,

however fair the breast

Of the green hill-side, where the graves are made, "Here the beloved ones rest!

"Here in this forest shade!

Distant,

and yet how near !

Where kindred spirits kindred joys pursue,

In duties ever dear,

Surprises ever new,

They range from sphere to sphere

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Through all the fresh delights of God's eternal year!

Nor are their human ties forgotten quite :

With the strong will to see friends left behind

Cometh a might

Swifter than light,

And they are here, though viewless as the wind;

With privilege, at times, to interpose

Between us and our woes.

Since it is gain ineffable, to die

Unto the mortal eye,

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