To J. T. and M. T. Lane, on the death of their little Child,
Francis M. Lane, July 25, 1858.
Still reigns the tyrant Death in sable power;
Sorrow and mourning wait at his command;
For tender bud as well as blooming flower,
Fades 'neath the touch of his relentless hand.
And hath his summons to your hearts been spoken?
Hath his dark shadow crossed your threshold o'er?
Hath he links of fond affection broken,
And borne a loved one from this mortal shore?
So hath a floweret from your pathway faded;
A bright star shining o'er you set in gloom;
Bright rays of hope are from your vision shaded
By the dark curtain of the silent tomb.
'Tis well to weep: stay not the bitter tears
If thus the burdened heart may find relief;
For this dark earth hath been six thousand years
A vale of woe, a charnel-house of grief.
Know then that here where dearest forms have perished,
There's nothing true on which our love to shed;
Not where death reigns can hopes of bliss be cherished,
Which may not wither 'neath his icy tread.
But ah! there is land whose shores are nearing;
The ills of earth its soil shall never bear;
Of that bright world there stands this promise cheering:
Death finds no entrance--pain no victims there.
To that fair land be now your footsteps tending;
Fix heart and treasure on that blissful shore,
Where friends shall re-unite in joy unending,
Nor taste the pangs of separation more.
Passed Away.
Passed away from earth forever,
Free from all its cares and fears,
She again will join us never
While we tread this vale of tears;
For the turf is now her pillow,
And she sleeps among the dead;
While the cypress and the willow
Wave above her lowly bed.
There she slumbers, calmly slumbers,
With the silent, peaceful dead.
With what grief and anguish riven,
Should we see the loved depart,
If there were no promise given,
Which could soothe the wounded heart!
If the chains with which death binds them,
Ne'er again should broken be;
And his prison which confines them,
Ne'er be burst to set them free;
If forever there to leave them,
Were our hopeless destiny.
But a glorious day is nearing,
Earth's long-wished-for jubilee;
When creation's King appearing,
Shall proclaim his people free;
When upborne on Love's bright pinion,
They shall shout from land and sea,
Death! where is thy dark dominion!
Grave! where is thy victory!
Then we'll meet her, gladly meet her,
Where we'll never parted be.
Ode.
Written for the anniversary exercises of the Golden Branch
Society of Phillips' Exeter Academy, June, 1850.
Borne on in the swift course of time,
The hour again is here,
Which calls from us a sad adieu,
And swells the parting tear.
We'd fain the golden hours prolong,
Which have so quickly past;
We'd fain delay the farewell song,
And bid our union last.
But tho' we grieve that some so soon
Must leave our social band,
We would not have you linger here,
'Gainst duty's high demand.
But, rather, we would bid you forth
Into the field of life,
To battle for immortal names,
Like heroes in the strife.
Advance, then, in the grand career,
So nobly here begun;
Aim to accomplish life's great end,
Until life's course is run.
May fortune smile upon your path,
And all your efforts bless;
And may her arm be ever near
To crown you with success.
And, as you tread your onward course,
May virtue guide your way;
And wreath of fame adorn your brow,
Which ne'er shall fade away,
"Excelsior" will lead you on
To posts of honor high.
And call to mind our "holy bond,"
Of "Friendship's Sacred Tie."
And may you prove, while on you press
With banner wide unfurled,
An honor to your native land,
A blessing to the world.
And when at last, life's work is done,
This recompense you'll have,
The true and lasting fame that waits
The Great, the Good, the Brave.
Ode.
Written for the anniversary exercises of the Golden Branch
Society of Phillips' Exeter Academy, June, 1851.
We've met again within these halls--
These halls to mem'ry dear,
Where scenes of harmony and peace
Have filled the by-gone year.
But e'en while recollections fond
Still cling around the heart,
One bitter thought disturbs our joy:
For we have met to part.
Full well we know, our path through life
Can ne'er be always bright;
The sweetest hours to mortals given
Are swiftest in their flight.
Then let us follow duty's call,
With calm, undaunted brow,
Nor weakly chide the stern behest,
Which separates us now.
Ye whom this consecrated spot
Still sheds its blessings o'er,
Use well the moments as they pass,
For they return no more.
Here you must gird your armor on,
Survey the field of life,
And then go forth to earn a name,
Or perish in the strife.
Great men have been before us here,
Whose fame the wide world knows;
_Excelsior_ still shines for us--
The star by which they rose.
They're shedding now a mighty spell
On all the paths we tread;
On living brows bloom laurel wreaths,
While cypress mourns the dead.
Then let us form the high resolve
To make our lives sublime,
And mark a clear and noble track
Upon the sands of time,
And bring fresh honors to the list
Of men and heroes all,
Whose power is felt from pole to pole--
The sons of Phillips' Hall.
I'm Coming Home Again.
The wheels of time roll ceaseless on,
The moments glide away;
The hours but tell us they are gone,
Nor lingers long the day.
So that from friends, and home, away
I shall not long remain,
For soon the flying wings of time
Will bear me home again.
I have a home--oh! blessed thought!--
Which oft I call to mind;
Which oft a healing balm has brought,
And left dull care behind.
From this dear home, though far away,
I cannot long remain,
The ties of friendship, sure and strong,
Will bring me home again.
In fancy's vision oft I see
Friendship's extended hand,
And for a moment seem to be,
One in your happy band;
But recollection suffers not
These visions to remain,
And so to see you face to face,
I'm coming home again.
The boisterous waves roll rough around
My thin and slender bark;
While clouds arise, and storms resound,
And all is drear and dark.
But out upon the swelling tide
I shall not long remain,
For I'm coming into harbor--
I'm coming home again.
Charity.
There is a way more excellent, so traced the sacred pen,
Than e'en to share the precious gifts which God vouchsafes to men;
It is to draw for every act our motive from above,
And make our whole of mortal life a holocaust of love.
For though the mind with all the wealth of human lore expand,
Though e'en an angel's glowing words we hold at our command,
If in each thought and word expressed, no charity abound,
'Twill but be like the tinkling brass, the cymbal's hollow sound.
And though all knowledge we possessed, all mysteries could prove,
Had faith to bid the rugged mount to yonder sea remove,
If charity dwell not within, the all-inspiring power,
We are but cyphers in the scale, the beings of an hour.
And though our goods we freely give to meet the sufferer's need,
And yield our bodies to the stake, the fiery flame to feed;
If charity prompt not these acts, so fair to human sight,
It profits nothing in His eyes who reads the heart aright.
For charity is but the name for every heavenly grace;
With human weakness long she bears, to anger ne'er gives place;
Her features fair with kindness glow, no envy stirs her breast,
Nor e'er by boastful acts or words is inward pride expressed.
She ever seeketh others' good, regardless of her own;
She thinks no evil, speaks no ill, by act, or look, or tone;
Not in iniquity, but truth, doth she her comfort take,
And bears, believes, endures, and hopes, all things, for Jesus' sake.
Hail, holy Charity! bright daughter of the skies!
An angel from the ruins of our once fair paradise,
Still lingering with our fallen race to point our feet above,
And show us what a Heaven will be, where all is wrought in love.
In the dark places of the earth thy footsteps may we trace,
By fruitful fields and verdant plains where once were desert wastes.
The orphan rises up with joy thy coming steps to bless,
And widows, smiling through their tears, their grateful thanks express.
To clothe the naked, feed the poor, bestowing joy for pain;
To bring relief to those who long in suffering have lain;
To cause the sad, despondent heart to sing aloud for joy--
These are thy works, sweet Charity, thy holy, blest employ.
We welcome thee, O Heavenly grace! be thou our constant guide;
Let thy sweet spirit in our hearts forevermore abide.
Help its to scatter deeds of love in all the paths we tread;
For blessing thus our fellow-men, we honor Christ our head.