The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 390, September 19, 1829. Various

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      Thro' fruits and flowers that fringe the grassy side.

      The playful murmurings of its windings seem

      Soft, as the far-off music of a dream,

      Over our heads the trees their blossoms shed,

      Flowers on the brink their mingled odours shed.

      Beauty around, above us, Hope within;

      Eager we grasp each dazzling charm to win.

      But hurried on and on, we ne'er can stay

      Our little bark to anchor or delay.

      For now, how full, how deep, how vast the river

      On which we glide, that stays its journey never!

      As rolling years bring with them joy and woe,

      Dark, and more various, seems our voyage to grow.

      Buoyant we ride on waves of hope and joy,

      Down, down, we sink, when earthly cares annoy!

      Futile and vain, alike each hope or fear

      On, on, we glide, there is no resting here.

      For far behind is left each joy and woe,

      The mighty river ne'er will cease to flow!

      And, rough and smooth, it hastens to its home,

      Glides by each futile hope and pleasure gone.

      Until within our ears the ocean roars,

      And the bleak billows break upon the shores;

      Beneath our keel the bounding waves arise,

      And the land lessens from our aching eyes.

      The floods of "Time's wide ocean" round us swell,

      Earth take of us thy long and last farewell!

      For witness of our future voyage there's none

      But He, the Infinite, Eternal One!