REPENTANCE. Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. WHEN comes the awful tempest through the sky,— When far and fast the swift-winged lightnings fly, And when the thunder's voice, sublimely loud, Peals from the bosom of its parent cloud, Who hath not watched with anxious eye to see Who hath not blessed them, as with quickened rush, To cool the fever of the sun-parched plain, And bid the pulse of Nature calmly beat again ? B Is there not such a balm for spirits given, When they have wandered from the ways of heaven? When on the heart the steps of guilty wrath, And gloomy sin, have traced a burning path? When heaven no longer, with indulgent eye, But musters all its vengeance, to be shed In fiery ruin on the sinful head; Then comes Repentance, to arrest that doom, And her sweet tears are seen glist'ning amidst the gloom. Oh, mild attendant on the fiend Remorse! Sweet, placid follower in his painful course! When he hath taught the stubborn heart to bleed, When he hath bowed it like a broken reed, How oft thou standest by his side, to turn And with thy sweet voice whisperest-Peace may be, So that the heart will fix its hope, its trust in thee! Remorse may come without thee,-dark and deep Back unto Hope,-to trace each footstep o'er To cool its fever with thy tender tears, And bid it bring forth flowers of truth in future years. Strange! that the parents of so sweet a child Should be themselves so savage and so wild; Passion and guilt! 'twas these who brought thee forth, And gave thee rudely to this sinful earth; But so the rosebud blossoms on the thorn; Oh! thou didst touch the breast of her who knelt So long; thou struck'st the chord, and thence did start The tones, the wordless tones, that rose on high, As holy as an angel's melody. And when had those dark eyes shed tears so sweet As those that bathed that blest Redeemer's feet? And when could lowly homage lovelier be Than such as her's, who bent in reverence, born of thee? Turn to the death bed-where Remorse hath fixed His fatal reign, unsoftened and unmixed With thee. Upon that face, without controul, Revel the fearful workings of the soul: The eyes are fixed; but in their glassy gaze, Now look again!-there lies another form Stretched on its couch; the cheek is calm,-and warm The heart with hope,-tears, happy tears within That heart hath sinned-hath suffered; but thy balm Hath healed the wounded breast, and bade a calm Be on its heavings: in the last hour now It looks on Death with an untroubled brow; |