Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/103

 1830-40.] JOHN FliNLEY. 87 TO A SKELETON.* Year after year its course has sped, Age after age has passed away ; And generations, bora and dead, Have mingled with their kindred clay, Since this rude pile, to mem'ry dear. Was watered by affection's tear. Perhaps this mould'ring human frame. In death's dark slumber Avrapp'd so long, Once wore the " magic of a name," The pride of chivalry and song ; And this once animated earth. Haply a noble soul enshrined, A feeling heart, of sterling worth, A genius bright, though ixnrefined. Perhaps — but let conjecture cease ; Departed spirit! rest in peace. No legend tells thy hidden tale, Thou relic of a race unknown ! Oblivion's deepest, darkest vail, Around thy history is thrown. Fate, wdth an arbitraiy hand, Inscribed thy story on the sand. The sun, in whose diurnal race Was measured out thy earthly span. Exhibits his unaltered face. And mocks the brevity of man. The hill, the plain, where thou hast trod, Are yearly clad in garments green ; While thou hast lain beneath the sod, Unconscious of the lovely scene. Yet roll the river's limpid waves. Where thou of yore wert wont to drink. And yet its rising current laves The rock that overhangs its brink ; But rock and river, hill and plain, To chaos shall return again. And e'en the radiant orb of day, Like thee, frail man, must pass away. Whitewater River, Richmond, la., and finding in it a human skeleton. WHAT IS FAITH? Faith is the Christian's prop, Whereon his son'ows lean; It is the substance of his hope, His proof of things unseen ; It is the anchor of the soul. When tempests rage and billows roll. Faith is the polar star That guides the Cliristian's bark, Directs his wanderings from afar, To reach the holy Ark ; It points his course where'er he roam, And safely leads the pilgrim home. Faith is the rainbow's form. Hung on the brow of heaven ; The glory of the passing stoi'm, The pledge of mercy given ; It is the bright, triumphal arch, Thi'ough which the saints to glory march. Faith is the mountain rock, Whose summit towers on high. Secure above the tempest's shock. An inmate of the sky ; Fixed on a prize of greater worth, It views with scorn the things of earth. Faith is the lightning's tlash. That rends the solid rock, From which the living waters gush, At every vivid shock ; While Sinai's awful thunders roU Around the self-convicted soul. The faith that works by love, And purifies the heart, A foretaste of the joys above To mortals can impart : The Christian's faith is simply this — A passport to immortal bliss.
 * Lines written on opening a mound on the bank of