(AIR. BEETHOVEN.) WHO is the Maid my spirit seeks, Through cold reproof and slander's blight? Has she Love's roses on her cheeks? Is hers an eye of this world's light? I chose not her, my heart's elect, As if themselves were things divine. Not so the faded form I prize And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes Is all the grace her brow puts on. And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light, In holy lustre wastes away. OH, THOU! WHO DRYST THE MOURNER'S TEAR. (AIR.-HAYDN.) "He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."-Psalm cxlvii. 3. OH, Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear, Must weep those tears alone. Which, like the plants that throw When joy no longer soothes or cheers, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above? Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray; And darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day! GO, LET ME WEEP. (AIR. STEVENSON.) Go, let me weep-there's bliss in tears, Effaced by every drop that steals. cave me to sigh o'er hours that flew More idly than the summer's wind, A id, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw, But left no trace of sweets behind.The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves Ja cold, is faint to those that swell The heart, where pure repentance grieves O'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. Leave me to sigh. When, bringing every balmy sweet And wiped them with that golden hair, Were not those sweets, so humbly shed- Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, Oh, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, "Love much"15 and be forgiven! |