132 THE MOURNER'S APPEAL. 



My future years are with such anguish fraught 

 I would look upward, — peace dwells not below. 



Since first my soul took cognizance of life, 



I've looked on nature with a lover's eye ; 

 Amid the world's vain toil and bitter strife 



I still have felt her gentle influence nigh : 

 Yet now, when in my agony I come, 



Fleeing to her in refuge from despair, 

 Her shrine is cold, — her oracles are dumb, — 



No sympathy nor solace wait me there. 



Tis that mine eyes are dimmed with frequent tears, 



Else would I see a balm in every flower, 

 And find a light to chase my gloomy fears 



In every star that gems the evening hour ; 

 'Tis that my soul is dark with sinful doubt, 



And finds no promise in a world so fair, 

 Else would each star and fragrant bud give out 



Its pledge that God, — our Hope, is everywhere. 



