| |
| ’T IS 1 not enough that virtue sways | |
| Our present hours and passing days; | |
| ’T is not enough, our purpose be | |
| From every base intention free; | |
| All that polluted life’s first source | 5 |
| Will float along its downward course, | |
| And dark shall be each future year, | |
| Unless the spring of life is clear. | |
| |
| Though words of truth eternal say, | |
| Repentance washes guilt away; | 10 |
| If former times display a stain, | |
| The future shall the blot retain; | |
| The hue and color of the past | |
| Upon the coming hour is cast; | |
| And dark shall be each future year, | 15 |
| Unless the spring of life be clear. | |
| |
| O then, upon those future years, | |
| Bestow not agony and tears! | |
| Though all thy sins shall be forgiven, | |
| And blotted from the book of heaven; | 20 |
| Their shades shall flit around, and fling | |
| Dark horror from their raven wing; | |
| And bitter be each future year, | |
| Unless the spring of life is clear. * * * * * | |
| In early life when trusting youth | 25 |
| Thinks all is goodness, worth, and truth; | |
| A holy inmate charms man’s breast, | |
| And lulls its many woes to rest. | |
| It watches o’er his pillow’d head, | |
| And lures sweet slumbers to his bed; | 30 |
| It adds fresh charms to morning’s ray, | |
| And guards him through the eventful day— | |
| No might, but his, can bid depart, | |
| That holy inmate from his heart— | |
| ’T is stainless conscience—boon of heaven, | 35 |
| To man, for heavenly purpose, given. | |
| |
| But when amidst the world he roves, | |
| And that he ought to hate, he loves, | |
| Unheeded pass its frequent cries, | |
| The holy inmate quickly dies; | 40 |
| But oft within the varying scene, | |
| When thought his follies wakes between; | |
| But oft within the gloom of night, | |
| Its shade, avenging, meets his sight— | |
| Comes, deck’d with all the warmth of youth, | 45 |
| When life was love, and peace, and truth, | |
| Comes, deck’d with all the charms that blest, | |
| In early life, his guiltless breast. | |
| It smiles—in fancied view, appears, | |
| The virtuous bliss of youthful years; | 50 |
| It frowns—before his blasted eyes, | |
| His present vices hideous rise. | |
