THOUGHTS.Insooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,And on the mountain zephyr health is borne,While we inhale it as it murmurs by;On some lone hill in musing mood to lie,Then as we watch the day's advancing light,We learn from it that we but live to die.The sun will set though shining e'er so bright,A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life,'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe,A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife,A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow;Yet some have thought they felt a joy below,Which to their darker hours did solace prove,Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow;And not of earth it seems, but from aboveIt comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.That thought is vain as love's own happiness,For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,We wake, to life, far sadder than before.It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleamOf flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,Making the wilderness more dreary seem—Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream.It boots not now to ponder o'er the past,Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene;The beauty of the sky is overcast,Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been;And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen.Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light,Like the first dawning of the morn serene,Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright—Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night.'Tis piety alone that can impartA peace of mind that ne'er will fade away,A bliss that calms the passions of the heart,A hope that soothes us even in decay,Inspires the thought and elevates the lay;'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour,When death relentless seizes on his prey;Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower,Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower.
Insooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,And on the mountain zephyr health is borne,While we inhale it as it murmurs by;On some lone hill in musing mood to lie,Then as we watch the day's advancing light,We learn from it that we but live to die.The sun will set though shining e'er so bright,A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life,'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe,A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife,A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow;Yet some have thought they felt a joy below,Which to their darker hours did solace prove,Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow;And not of earth it seems, but from aboveIt comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.That thought is vain as love's own happiness,For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,We wake, to life, far sadder than before.It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleamOf flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,Making the wilderness more dreary seem—Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream.It boots not now to ponder o'er the past,Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene;The beauty of the sky is overcast,Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been;And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen.Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light,Like the first dawning of the morn serene,Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright—Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night.'Tis piety alone that can impartA peace of mind that ne'er will fade away,A bliss that calms the passions of the heart,A hope that soothes us even in decay,Inspires the thought and elevates the lay;'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour,When death relentless seizes on his prey;Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower,Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower.
Insooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,And on the mountain zephyr health is borne,While we inhale it as it murmurs by;On some lone hill in musing mood to lie,Then as we watch the day's advancing light,We learn from it that we but live to die.The sun will set though shining e'er so bright,A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life,'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe,A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife,A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow;Yet some have thought they felt a joy below,Which to their darker hours did solace prove,Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow;And not of earth it seems, but from aboveIt comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.That thought is vain as love's own happiness,For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,We wake, to life, far sadder than before.It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleamOf flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,Making the wilderness more dreary seem—Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream.It boots not now to ponder o'er the past,Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene;The beauty of the sky is overcast,Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been;And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen.Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light,Like the first dawning of the morn serene,Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright—Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night.'Tis piety alone that can impartA peace of mind that ne'er will fade away,A bliss that calms the passions of the heart,A hope that soothes us even in decay,Inspires the thought and elevates the lay;'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour,When death relentless seizes on his prey;Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower,Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower.
Insooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,And on the mountain zephyr health is borne,While we inhale it as it murmurs by;On some lone hill in musing mood to lie,Then as we watch the day's advancing light,We learn from it that we but live to die.The sun will set though shining e'er so bright,A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.
Insooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,
When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,
And on the mountain zephyr health is borne,
While we inhale it as it murmurs by;
On some lone hill in musing mood to lie,
Then as we watch the day's advancing light,
We learn from it that we but live to die.
The sun will set though shining e'er so bright,
A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.
Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life,'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe,A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife,A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow;Yet some have thought they felt a joy below,Which to their darker hours did solace prove,Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow;And not of earth it seems, but from aboveIt comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.
Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life,
'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe,
A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife,
A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow;
Yet some have thought they felt a joy below,
Which to their darker hours did solace prove,
Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow;
And not of earth it seems, but from above
It comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.
That thought is vain as love's own happiness,For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,We wake, to life, far sadder than before.It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleamOf flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,Making the wilderness more dreary seem—Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream.
That thought is vain as love's own happiness,
For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;
Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—
And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,
We wake, to life, far sadder than before.
It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleam
Of flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,
Making the wilderness more dreary seem—
Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream.
It boots not now to ponder o'er the past,Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene;The beauty of the sky is overcast,Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been;And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen.Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light,Like the first dawning of the morn serene,Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright—Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night.
It boots not now to ponder o'er the past,
Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene;
The beauty of the sky is overcast,
Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been;
And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen.
Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light,
Like the first dawning of the morn serene,
Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright—
Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night.
'Tis piety alone that can impartA peace of mind that ne'er will fade away,A bliss that calms the passions of the heart,A hope that soothes us even in decay,Inspires the thought and elevates the lay;'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour,When death relentless seizes on his prey;Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower,Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower.
'Tis piety alone that can impart
A peace of mind that ne'er will fade away,
A bliss that calms the passions of the heart,
A hope that soothes us even in decay,
Inspires the thought and elevates the lay;
'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour,
When death relentless seizes on his prey;
Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower,
Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower.