Part 96 (1/2)
ST. JEROME'S LOVE.
(AIR.--BEETHOVEN.)
Who is the Maid my spirit seeks, Thro' cold reproof and slander's blight?
Has _she_ Love's roses on her cheeks?
Is _hers_ an eye of this world's light?
No--wan and sunk with midnight prayer Are the pale looks of her I love; Or if at times a light be there, Its beam is kindled from above.
I chose not her, my heart's elect, From those who seek their Maker's shrine In gems and garlands proudly decked, As if themselves were things divine.
No--Heaven but faintly warms the breast That beats beneath a broidered veil; And she who comes in glittering vest To mourn her frailty, still is frail.
Not so the faded form I prize And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes Is all the grace _her_ brow puts on.
And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light, In holy l.u.s.tre wastes away.
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.
(AIR.--STEVENSON.)
This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful s.h.i.+ne, deceitful flow-- There's nothing true but Heaven!
And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even; And love and hope, and beauty's bloom, Are blossoms gathered for the tomb-- There's nothing bright but Heaven!
Poor wanderers of a stormy day, From wave to wave we're driven, And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troubled way-- There's nothing calm but Heaven!
OH THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR.
(AIR.--HAYDN.)
”He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds,”
--_Psalm_. cxlvii. 3.
Oh Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee.
The friends who in our suns.h.i.+ne live, When winter comes, are flown; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe.