JT-25-A DIRGE.

A DIRGE.

Lord, what am I? Ah, who can say?
A man! a worm! a clod of clay!
Ingenious form, of wond’rous birth,
Of high degree, a child of earth.

Corrupted matter, low confined,
Possess’d of spirit closely joined,
Impoverish’d reptile, drowned in woes,
Without a friend--pursued by foes.

My life, how like the gliding stream;
Or like the nightly vanish’d dream;
My transient day is nothing more,
Than bubbles bursting on the shore.

The oceans tow’ry billows rise,
And seem to climb amid the skies,
But soon they sink, and roll away,
Not co-existent with the day.

So would I vainly place my seat,
That men should move beneath my feet,
But soon, alas! I must descend,
Where dust enfolds our earthly end.

But tho’ I have short time to stay,
In this imprisoned tent of clay,
I have a mind--that mind can trace
Beyond the grave, a boundless space.

This reasoning sense, a part divine,
Death can’t destroy, nor grave confine,
That speaks a God, proclaims an hour,
When death shall lose his tyrant pow’r.

I feel within, a lucid ray,
That ope’s to me eternal day,
An ardent sense to grasp a prize,
Not found where earthly treasure lies.

I will forsake those swarms that play,
Like floating gnats on summer’s day,
That skim along like butterflies,
And fell unfledg’d with sad surprise.

I claim no kin to their gay race,
I count their pride my low disgrace,
Their wealth, their pleasure, and their fame,
Are flitting shades--an empty name.

I claim my kindred, not with earth,
And none but those of heavenly birth;
No hoards I seek of golden ore,
But look for treasures valued more.

The earth can’t long confine me here,
I’ll bid farewell without a tear,
To all her cares, and mount the skies,
And seize my lov’d, immortal prize.