The Shadow of the Rock! Always at hand, Unseen it cools the noontide land, And quells the fire that flickers in the sand. It comes in sight Only at night; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! Mid skies storm-riven It gathers shadows out of heaven, And holds them o'er us all night cool and even. Through the charmed air Dew falls not there; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! This Rock its shadow multiplies, O'er thousands laid; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! That have been diligent and fleet, The sleep is deeper and the shade more sweet. O weary, rest! Thou art sore pressed; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! Thy bed is made; Crowds of tired souls like thine are laid They who rest here Wake with Heaven near; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! In night's swift hours with silent bound, The Rock will put thee over leagues of ground, Gaining more way By night than day; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! One day of pain, Thou scarce wilt hope the Rock to gain, Yet there wilt sleep thy last sleep on the plain, And only wake In heaven's daybreak; Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born at Cummington, Mass., in 1794. He graduated at Williams College, and began the practice of the law, but soon turned to literature. He became the editor of the New York Evening Post, and was throughout his life an honored citizen, a respected poet, and a pure patriot. He died in New York City in 1879, from the effects of a fall, after exposure during the delivery of an oration in Central Park. OH, deem not they are blest alone The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light. And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier Nor let the good man's trust depart, For God hath marked each sorrowing day WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING. As virtuous men pass mildly away So let us melt. and make no noise, No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move, 'T were profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of the earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. |