True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-01-11
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From the Christian World.
MUSINGS ON LIFE.


Six thousand years have passed away,
Since Time first spread his youthful pinion
With restless motion to survey
The wide extent Of his dominion.
And he has kept his onward flight,
And lef the mighty wrecks behind,
OF nations, proud of skill and might,
In dimness and in death enshrined.
AS thus the mighty past we scan,
How short appears the life of mani
Since Eden's bowers were denied,
What throngs o: men have lived and died
The earth is one vast grave, which groans
With tceming life midst human bones,
In all, the glowing thrill life, =
Brought hope, and joy, and pain, and strife
Ambitions lofty kindling fame,
Intensely burning after glory;
But Oh how few have left a name
When they were gone, to tell their story,
And gaze now on the varied forms
OF busy life that press around.
And know what hope each bosom warns,
What secret wish ats TO he crowned,
And see men labor and contend,
To gain some trifing, selfish end.
Then turn from this degenerate race.
To yon blue depths Of boundless space,
Where suns and systems their vast rounds
Perform within their stated bounds,
And know who guides this mighty plan,
And feel how small a thing is man:a
Who is as waves upon the ocean,
Lashed by the stprmking's angry hand,
Tossed to and fro in wild commotion,
And lost as they upon the strand.
Death sets his signet at each birth,
In glaring letters on each brow;
And time will shortly sweep from earth,
The throng of life. that crowds it now.
asked the mighty past how long
A lease it gave this living throng?
From ocean, mountain, grave and glen,
Phe answer came, "three score and ten."
And is this all? shall man, proud man,
Be narrowed down to this brief span?
This little round of feeting years,
Der which are scattered smiles and tears ?
IT'S even so--and day by day
The feebler pulse tells off its number,
And soon must cease its busy play,
Locked in deaths cold and lonely slumbers
Yet man tolls on as thou gh his lease
0flife were endless, and his gain
Would bring his troubled bosom peace,
And shield his trembling form from pain
Mistaken man! how vain the toll
Which seeks to hoard up glitterirg spoil
Orseeks to twine around name,
The unavailing wreath of fame.
Wealth is but dust, crown, toy,
Which few attain and none enjoy.
All things of earth soon cease to please;
What madness then 10 live for these
There is better world than this,
To those who seek 1t freely given
A home of never.ending bliss,
With all the happy throng in heaven,
Where Time no more will bring his change
Nor Death his iron sceptre WELD,
Where blissful spirits free may range
For ever DER creations field.
To gain that bright and blissful sphere,
Is surely worth the toll while here.
When life's dim lamp shall feebly burn,
And earth shall open wide her urn,
What else but hope can cheer the gloom,
Which hangs around the lonely tomb?
And when this little life shall end,
And dust with kindred dust shall blend,
The good of earth will sink to rest,
And trust their spirits to Gods keeping,
As infancy upon The breast
OF its fond mother calmly sleeping.
Then clothed in robes of spotless white,
The spirit freed from this dull clay,
Will plume its wings and take its flight,
AS thought now leaps from earth away.