Sing not of beauty's grace to me;
I can not bear to hear the name;
For, oh! Too oft in it I see
A soul of falsehood and of shame!
AT EVENTIDE.
At eventide, when glories lie
In crimson curtains hung on high,
And all the breast of heaven glows
With mingled wreaths of flowers and snows,
The dearest dreams of life draw nigh.
The pleasures in their soft robes fly
With angel wings adown the sky,
And rapture lulls to sweet repose,
At eventide.
Ah, well-a-day! Life's weary cry,
And all its curse and care shall die,
When Age on downy couches throws
His weary limbs and only knows
The tender dreams of bye-and-bye,
At eventide!
WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES.
When Christmas comes, what pleasures spring
From drooping hearts on happy wing,
Like joyous birds that soaring rise
From hidden coverts to the skies.
And echo in the chimes that ring!
Glad millions in wild rapture sing
Hosannaed hopes of welcoming,
While praises blend in harmonies,
When Christmas comes.
Ah, happy hours! Around them cling
The dearest joys that life may bring,
And all the world's despairing cries
Are soothed to sleep with lullabies
That banish every bitter thing,
When Christmas comes!
WHEN THOU ART NEAR.
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