THINK not some knowledge rests with thee alone. To swell the mighty storehouse of things known. In vain the sea expostulates and raves; BLANCO WHITE. TO NIGHT. MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first | And lo! creation widened in man's parent knew view. Thee from report divine, and heard | Who could have thought such dark ness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect lay revealed, That to such countless orbs thou madest us blind! Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife ?— The autumn leaf is sere and dead, The woods and winds, with sudden wail, Tell all the same unvaried tale; Yet in my dreams a form I view, That thinks on me, and loves me too; I start, and when the vision's flown, I weep that I am all alone. From vanity, never, never die. And point to scenes of bliss that I only bow and say, My God, Thy will be done. |