New England Religious Herald

"THEY THAT SEEK ME EARLY SHALL FIND ME."

BY W. G. CLARKE.

Come, while the blossoms of thy years are brightest,
Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery maze—
Come, while the restless heart is bounding lightest,
And joy's pure sunbeam trembles in thy ways—
Come, while sweet thoughts like summer buds unfolding,
Wake rich feelings in the careless breast—
While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is holding,
Come and secure interminable rest.

Soon will the freshness of thy days be over,
And thy free buoyancy of soul be flown—
Pleasure will fold her wings—and friend and lover
Will to the embraces of the worm have gone!
Those who now love thee will have passed forever
Their looks and kindness will be lost to thee—
Thou wilt need a balm to heal thy spirit's fever,
As thy sick heart broods over years to be.

Come while the morning of thy life is glowing—
Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing die
Ere the gay spell which earth is round thee throwing,
Fades like the crimson from a sunset sky.
Life is but shadows, save a promise given,
That lights the future with a fadeless ray—
Come—touch the sceptre—win a hope of heaven,
Come, turn thy spirit from this world away.

Then will the shadows of this brief existence
Seem airy nothings to thine ardent soul—
And shining brightly in the forward distance,
Will, of the patient race, appear the goal
Home of the weary—where in bliss reposing,
The spirit lingers in unclouded bliss—
Though o'er the dust the curtained grave is closing,
Who would not early choose a lot like this!