Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 489, May 14, 1831 - Various - Страница 2

I've stood to gaze on the sunset hill,

When the winds were hush'd and the waves were still;

As the sun sank slowly down the west,

I thought of the good man dropping to rest,

When his race is run—he yields his breath,

And softly sinks in the slumber of death.

When I gazed on the gorgeous western sky,

I thought of those blissful bowers on high,

Whose brightness—blessedness serene,

Ear hath not heard—eye hath not seen.

When I saw the golden glories die,

I thought on life's uncertainty,

And as night came on in her ebon gloom,

Oh! I thought of the dark and the dreamless tomb,

How soon man's fairest prospects flee,

The curtain drops—"And where is he?"