The Southern Literary Messenger, Volume I., 1834-35

To Christiana.

Sister, while life and joy are young,
While the sweet lyre of hope is strung,
Ere thou hast known a crowd of cares,
Earth's vain regrets and burning tears—
Ere the sick heart of grief is thine,
Or rapture's thrilling pulse decline—
Ere wounded pride and love shall tell
That thou hast served the world too well,
Turn thou to worship at the shrine
Of faith and holy love divine!
Bring all thy strength of feeling there;
Wait not to waste affection where
No harvest ever can repay
For all thou losest by delay.
Seek the bright path the saints have trod;
At his own altar worship God;
And find that peace whilst kneeling there
The world can neither give nor share.
Mourn thou with hope—with fear rejoice;
List to that small but awful voice,
Which tells us all things fade and die
To bloom no more beneath the sky.
Earth's brightest dreams soon melt away,
Her forms of loveliness decay—
And disappointment's chilling gloom
Blights all her flowers of fairest bloom;
But oh, remember, there is bliss
In a far better land than this:
Look thou beyond this world of care,
And hope a fadeless crown to wear.
Then may distress and sorrow come,
Thy soul can ever find a home!

E. A. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.