May laugh his faith, as foolishness, to scorn:—

These by the man of God are meekly borne.

[Pg 34]

His glorious hope no infidel can shake;

He suffers calmly for his Saviour's sake.—

The world's poor votary seeks in vain for peace:

He cannot bid the voice of conscience cease

Its dire upbraidings; in his heartless course

He meets at every turn the fiend Remorse,

Who glares upon him with her tearless eye,

That sears his heart—but mocks its agony.

He hears that voice, amid the festive throng,

Speak in the dance and murmur in the song,

A death-bell, pealing in the midnight chime,

Whose awful tones proclaim the lapse of time,

And e'en the winged moments as they fly

Seem to proclaim—"Rash mortal, thou must die!

Soon must thou tread the path thy fathers trod,

And stand before the judgment-seat of God!"—

He hears—but seeks in pleasure's cup to drown

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