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Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,Though with a pierced and broken heart, And spurned of men, he goes to die.
For God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear, And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For all his children suffer here.
"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE."
WHEN he, who, from the scourge of wrong,
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,
God made his grave, to men unknown,
To slumber while the world grows old.
Thus still, whene'er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
WHEN insect wings are glistening in the beam
Wander amid the mild and mellow light;
Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now
And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou
Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,
Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high
Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky.
Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air,
Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.
They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide, Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won; They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died, Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun; Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair, And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.
So, with the glories of the dying day,
Its thousand trembling lights and changing hues, The memory of the brave who passed away
Tenderly mingled ;-fitting hour to muse
On such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead.
For ages, on the silent forests here,
Thy beams did fall before the red man came To dwell beneath them; in their shade the deer Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim. Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods, Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of floods.
Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look, For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase, And well-fought wars; green sod and silver brook Took the first stain of blood; before thy face The warrior generations came and passed, And glory was laid up for many an age to last.
Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze
And trophies of remembered power, are gone.
I stand upon their ashes in thy beam,
And where the night-fire of the quivered band
Farewell! but thou shalt come again—thy light
Must shine on other changes, and behold The place of the thronged city still as night
States fallen-new empires built upon the old
But never shalt thou see these realms again
Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men