THE CREATOR TO BE REMEMBERED IN TIME OF YOUTH. "REMEMBER NOW THY CREATOR IN THE DAYS OF THY YOUTH, WHILE THE EVIL DAYS COME NOT, AND THE YEARS DRAW NIGH, WHEN THOU SHALT SAY I HAVE NO PLEASURE IN THEM." ECCLESIASTES xii. v. 1. TO THE MOTHER'S HOPE. REMEMBER now in childhood's early day, The hand that form'd thy animated clay; Engrave the precept deeply on thy heart, In the bright days of innocence and peace Ere evil overtake, and pleasures cease, And thou in life's gay vision's have no part. The fleeting scenes of youth will soon be o'er, And if that season thou shalt spend in vain, Thou may'st with tears the precious loss deplore, And vainly wish the blessing to regain. Oh seize the opening dawn of youth, to pay A resting-place against it's eve prepare: That when the vernal day of youth is past, And all the transient joys of life shall cease, No lurking fears may haunt thy mind at last, But an approving conscience whisper peace. The grateful tribute of untainted youth, Shall rise to Heaven and draw a guardian down, To lead thee in the righteous path of truth, And give thy hoary age a glorious crown. Religious youth appears with every grace, Th' expressive image of a soul divine, Benignant sweetness beams upon it's face, And makes each charm with double lustre shine. Th' aspiring soul on heavenly joys intent, Will rise superior to affliction's power: The calm reflection of a life well spent Will solace every inauspicious hour. How safely may the humble soul repose Beneath the sheltering wings of GOD's own love. And e'en when death this earthly scene shall close, 'Tis but to open brighter realms above. Oh! be religion now thy earliest care; Trust not to-morrow-but begin to-day: Uncertain life admits not of delay. D REFLECTIONS ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR 1792. Ir comes the midnight hour, with raven wing To take a last farewell-though it involve A few short moments and it will have pass'd Or tear that dims the retrospective eye. Now round a slumbering world has darkness drawn His sable curtain, and o'er pillow'd heads Of labour's children sheds lethean dews, Suspending in the sweet oblivious charm The anxious cares that wait on broad-eyed day. A child of labour I-and few my hours Of intermittent rest, but yet to me Sleep comes not. It was wont to come In rosy infancy's delightful morn, When gay as Spring I bounded o'er the hills Of my dear native North, with heart as light And spirits as elastic as my steps: 'Twas wont to come, and at the accustom'd hour, A welcome guest, when on my pallet laid In my scholastic nunnery; for such A semblance wore it's high sequestring walls Of Youth and Innocence, whose ductile hearts, Where'er the wandering eye can rove abroad; |