The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker/Despondency

Come Grief, and sing a solemn dirge
 * Beneath this midnight shade;

From central darkness now emerge,
 * And tread the lonely glade.

Attend each mourning pow'r around,
 * While tears incessant flow;

Strike all your strings with doleful sound,
 * Till Grief melodious grow.

This is the cheerless hour of night,
 * For sorrow only made,

When no intrusive ray of light
 * The silent glooms pervade.

Tho' such the darkness of my soul,
 * Not such the calmness there,

But waves of guilt tumultuous roll
 * 'Midst billows of despair.

Fallacious Pleasure's tinsel train
 * My soul rejects with scorn;

If higher joys she can't attain,
 * She'd rather chuse to mourn

For bliss superior she was made,
 * Or for extreme despair:

If pain awaits her past the dead
 * Why should she triumph here?

Tho' Reason points at good supreme,
 * Yet Grace must lead us thence;

Must wake us from this pleasing dream,
 * The idle joys of Sense.

Surely I wish the blackest night
 * Of Nature to remain,

'Till Christ arise with healing light,
 * Then welcome day again.