Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/260

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Well skilled the pulse of sickness press? Or such high honour gain, As o'er the pulpit raised to bless A pious, listening train?

Say, shall it find the cherished grasp Of friendship's fervour cold? Or shuddering feel the envenomed clasp Of treachery's serpent-fold?

Yet oh! may that Almighty Friend, From whom existence came, That dear and powerless hand defend From deeds of guilt and shame.

Grant it to dry the tear of woe, Bold folly's course restrain, The alms of sympathy bestow, The righteous cause maintain;

Write wisdom on the wing of time, Even 'mid the morn of youth, And with benevolence sublime, Dispense the light of truth,

Discharge a just, an useful part Through life's uncertain maze, Till, coupled with an angel's heart, It strike the lyre of praise.