XXXVII. Is thy path lonely? fear it not, for He But tells thee still that thou art unforgot; Nay, not a grief can darken or surprise, To bid thy helplessness seek strength above. XXXVIII. GREAT author of the world, I bow From the same hand, all merciful, Fill Thou my cup of misery full, I will not turn away. But O! this vain, this frantic hope, Grant Thou the power to overcome, O call my wandering spirit home, And pardon Thou my bosom's guilt, Make me, O Lord, whate'er thou wilt, XXXIX. My Father! when around me spread, O, in that anguished hour I turn With a still trusting heart to Thee! And holy thoughts still shine and burn Amid that cold, sad destiny. They fill my soul with heavenly light, Thy will be done! I will not fear The stars of heaven are shining on, Though these frail eyes are dimmed with tears; And though the hopes of earth be gone, Yet are not ours the immortal years? Father! forgive the heart that clings, There shall no doubts disturb its trust, But these afflictions of the dust, Like shadows of the night, remove. That glorious life will well repay XL. BEHOLD the western evening light, The winds breathe low; the withering leaf So gently flows the parting breath, How beautiful on all the hills How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast; 'Tis like the memory left behind, When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, So faith springs in the hearts of those And soon the morning's happier light And eyelids, that are sealed in death, XLI. [There is something exceedingly beautiful and touching in the circumstances of Mozart's death. After giving the last touch to his celebrated 66 Requiem," he fell into a gentle and quiet slumber. Being awakened by the footsteps of his daughter, he called her to him, and said, "My task is done; - the Requiem—my Requiem, is finished; take these, my last notes, and sing with them the hymn of your sainted mother. Let me once more hear those tones which have been so long my solace and delight." As she concluded the following stanzas, she dwelt for a moment on the low melancholy notes of the piece, and then, turning from the in |