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32       ANN ELIZA BLEECKER.

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.


HYMN.

(WRITTEN IN DESPONDENCY.)

Jesus Christ! regard my anguish,
Oh! commiserate my pain;
Bid my soul no longer languish,
Bid my spirit not complain.

'Tis my comfort thou'rt omniscient,
All my griefs are known to thee,
Saviour! thou art all sufficient,
To relieve a wretch like me.

Now thy clemency discover,
Give my wounded soul repose,
E'er my transient life is over,
E'er my sorrowing eyelids close.

By thy passion I conjure thee,
By thy painful sweat of blood,
Let my sighing come before thee,
Seal my pardon now with God.


RETURN TO TOMHANICK.

HAIL, happy shades! though clad with heavy snows,
At sight of you with joy my bosom glows;


ANN ELIZA BLEECKER. 33

Ye arching pines, that bow with every breeze,
Ye poplars, elms, all hail! my well-known trees!
And now my peaceful mansion strikes my eye,
And now the tinkling rivulet I spy;
My little garden, Flora, hast thou kept,
And watch'd my pinks and lilies, while I wept?
Or has the grubbing swine, by furies led,
The enclosure broke, and on my flowrets fed?
Ah me! that spot with blooms so lately grac'd,
With storms and driving snows, is now defaced;
Sharp icicles from every bush depend,
And frost all dazzling o'er the beds extend:
Yet soon fair spring shall give another scene,
And yellow cowslips gild the level green;
My little orchard sprouting at each bough,
Fragrant with clustering blossoms deep shall glow:
Ah! then 'tis sweet the tufted grass to tread,
But sweeter slumbering is the balmy shade;
The rapid humming-bird, with ruby breast,
Seeks the parterre with early blue-bells drest,
Drinks deep the honeysuckle dew, or drives
The labouring bee to her domestic hives:
Then shines the lupine bright with morning gems,
And sleepy poppies nod upon their stems;
The humble violet, the dulcet rose,
The stately lily then, and tulip blows.

Farewell, my Plutarch! farewell, pen and muse!
Nature exults - shall I her call refuse?
Apollo fervid glitters in my face,
And threatens with his beam each feeble grace:
Yet still around the lovely plants I toil,
And draw obnoxious herbage from the soil;
Or with the lime-twigs little birds surprise;
Or angle for the trout of many dyes.

C

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 12:21:31 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 14:43:46