Martinsburg gazette. [volume] (Martinsburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1833-1855, 1837-04-19

or ultimate inquiry. Ii we look back,
there is a point where knowledge fades
into conjecture /; if onward, we stand
upon the border of a sea with but one
shore, and whose heavings beyond, are
infinite and eternal OF what avail is
it then, that we bend over the lore of
antiquity, or wax pale over the lamp
of midnight-that we walk in the fields
catching the faint utterance ofthe voice
of God? We spend our strength for
naught I; the clouds roll with an uncom.
pretended impulse; the wave heaves,
the veidure brighiens, the wind turn
eth in its circuits-but what are we 7
We drink the sunshine and the breeze
passion warns us-doubt overshad-
ows-hope inspires-fear haunts US
but we are still in mystery. Pleasure
and pain are equally uncertain the
morrow is in the mist, and yesterday
is nothing. Our friends die-God chan
ges their countenance and takes them
away-and where is the balm for so
bitter a sting? 1t is to consider the
earth as no abiding place /; TO rely on
a power beyond our own to disdain
the Of the bigot, and the hot lam
guage of the z%ealot, and to cherish in
ones heart of hearts that essence Of the
beatitudes-he religion ofHJe!
Let no VAN hopes deceive the mind
No happier let US hope 10 find
To morrow than 10 day
Our golden dreams CT yore were bright
Like them the present shall delight
Like them decay.
Our lives like fastening streams must be,
That into one eDgulfng sea
Are doomed to fall:
The sea of death-whose waves roll on,
Der king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all.
Alike the rivers lordly pride,
Alike the humble rivuiets glide,
To that sad wave;
Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side,
Within the grave!
To THIS complexion, at last, must
we come ; and our questioning of
the elements, or of the mind are alike
in vain. How often has passionate
grief invoked the hosts of heaven to re.
store the lost Yet when the clod has
once fallen with its hollow sound upon
the coffin lid when its melancholy G.
cho has sunk unheard over the tuneless
ear of death, who that has stood by and
heard the requium for the departed
soul, but has wondered for its flight
Where is the heart that has not poured
forth its plant, amid the stiffness ofthe
night, when the ear
:" From echoing hill and thicket, oft has seemed
To hear celestial voices!"
1t is then that the soul longs for the
dStrologer'S poeer--the consultation of
the stars. Among those orbs, gem
ming the night with ~lustre, where do
the departed dwell Who can pierce
the blue mystery above to tell? There
they shine from age to age-glorious
clusters, flooding the empyrean with
paths, and looking down in beauty on
the mutations of a wicked and per.
verse world !" Is it among those noa-
ting jewels, scattered from the crown
Of the Almighty, where the prismatic
light CLEANS from the gates Of Para
disc, that the wicked cease from troub.
ling, and the weary are at rest?
Answer me, burning stars Of night,
Where hath the spirit gone,
That passed the bounds Of human sight
Even as the breeze IS flown?
And the stars answer me { We roll
In light and power on high,
Bat OF the never dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die -"