Poem of the Day 16

Hymn

JESUS CHRIST! regard my anguish,
Oh! commiserate my pain;
Bid my soul no longer languish,
Bid my spirit not complain.
‘T is 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.

–Eliza Bleecker

Poem of the Day 15

Lines To Grief

COME Grief, and sing a solemn dirge
Beneath this midnight shade;
From central darkness now emerge,
And tread the lonely glade.
This is the cheerless hour of night,
For sorrow only made;
When no intrusive rays of light,
The silent gloom pervade.
Though such the darkness of my soul,
Not such the calmness there;
But waves of guilt tumultuous roll
‘Midst billows of despair.
Fallacious Pleasure’s tinsel train
My soul rejects with scorn;
If higher joys she can’t attain,
She’d rather choose to mourn.
For bliss superior she was made;
Or for extreme despair;
If pain awaits her past the dead,
Why should she triumph here?
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.

 

–Eliza Bleecker

Poem of the Day 14

An Evening Prospect

Come, my Susan, quit your chamber,
Greet the opening bloom of May,
Let us up yon hillock clamber,
And around the scene survey.
See the sun is now descending,
And projects his shadows far,
And the bee her course is bending
Homeward through the humid air.
Mark the lizard just before us,
Singing her unvaried strain,
While the frog abrupt in chorus
Deepens through the marshy plain.
From yon grove the woodcock rises,
Mark her progress by her notes,
High in air her wing she poises,
Then like lightning down she shoots.
Now the whip-poor-will beginning,
Clamorous on a pointed rail,
Drowns the more melodious singing
Of the catbird, thrush, and quail.
Pensive Echo from the mountain
Still repeats the sylvan sounds;
And the crocus-bordered fountain
With the splendid fly abounds.
There the honey-suckle blooming,
Reddens the capricious wave;
Richer sweets, the air perfuming,
Spicy Ceylon never gave.
Cast your eyes beyond this meadow,
Painted by a hand divine,
And observe the ample shadow
Of that solemn ridge of pine.
Here a trickling rill depending,
Glitters through the artless bower
And the silver dew descending,
Doubly radiates every flower.
While I speak, the sun is vanish’d,
All the gilded clouds are fled;
Music from the groves is banish’d,
Noxious vapours round us spread.
Rural toil is now suspended,
Sleep invades the peasant’s eyes;
Each diurnal task is ended,
While soft Luna climbs the skies.
Queen of rest and meditation!
Through thy medium, I adore
Him— the Author of creation,
Infinite and boundless power!
He now fills thy urn with glory,
Transcript of immortal light;
Lord! my spirit bows before thee,
Lost in wonder and delight.

–Eliza Bleecker