Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/219

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What see'st thou, parting soul, through falling clay? Through the deep chasms of time and sickness pale? What fires the fix'd eye thus with rapture's ray Mid thy drear passage through the darken'd vale?—

See'st thou their smile who bow the seraph head In guardian friendship o'er salvation's heirs?— Is their white wing in sister-welcome spread To waft thee gently o'er a world of cares?—

Doth melody, unknown to mortal ear, With full, enchanting tide mellifluent flow?— The perfect language of that glorious sphere Which thy meek lip so well essay'd below?—

Come sceptic near this sacred couch, and try The strength of virtue's panoply, while pain Uproots of life and love the cherish'd tie And rends a mother from the mourning train.

Go—king of terrors!—prompt to thin the band Whose pure monitions guide us to the sky,— This barbless arrow from thy vengeful hand But points the christian's triumph,—how to die.

Oh privileged were those who mark'd thee rise Thou placid victor o'er the spoiler's power!— Imbibed they not the wisdom of the skies From the deep lesson of that awful hour?—

Adieu!—we dare not mourn thee save with tears Of holy gratitude,—raised as thou art Above the changes of these chastening years, And blissful number'd with the pure in heart.