SILENCE.
There is n silence hig with woe, The latest stage of settled grief, When scalding tears have ceased to flow, To the sad bleeding heart’s relief. > Ti* passion’s slumbt r but so full Of hideous dreams, she sleeps in vain, Her heart is still insatiable, And unrelaxing is her pain; While like an asp, the worm of care, Sucks the rich stream of life away ; Til! smiles the demon of despair, Fxu’ting o’er his prey.
There is a silence big with joy, Tire full heart’s throbbing ekquenc*, When love upraised to ecstacy, Defies the power of utterance Ti .i passion's trance —the soft eye’s ray, Half shrouded in the lid, reveals What thrilling rapture bears the sway, And gently o’er the bosom steals; And as it meets a glai ce in turn, As soft, as sweet, is fondly given, Such fires of wild delirium burn, It seems as earth were heaven.
There is a silence of the n< art, W here humble resign at i n dwells, Though care thrusts in his poison’d dart, And like the sea, affliction swells. ’Tis passions calm —no rising wind Can ruffle, and no storm o’etsway The equilibrium of the min 1, Which o’er to heaven’s decrees gives way For power divine enchains self-will ; When He who by hi- mighty nod Stays nature’s shocks, exclaims “Bestill, And know that I am God 1 ”
There is a silence of the night, When nature’s murmur sounds no mo:e; When darkness steals the realms of light, And spreads his wings he welkin o’er. I Tis passion's rest —o’erweening thought G. ins some relief: the fevered brain, The throbbing heart with anguish fraught, A little respire find from pain. Bushed is the cit ’sbnsy hum; A silent hour the village knows; . And the wood’s choristers are dumb, Inviting to repose.
F«t there is a silence deeper still Than these— the s I*nce of the grave, When the fond bosom’s every thrill Finds rest beneath oblivion’s wave. ’Tis passion's end —the mourner’s sob . And languor’s cigh is heard no more; The flutter of delight the throb Of love, of hope, and fear, are o’er: Nor anght that silence e’er shall break, Till the last trnmpet’s fearful voice The tenants ol the earth shall wake, To tremble or rejoice.
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Bibliographic details
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New Zealander, Volume XXII, Issue 2393, 1 April 1865, Page 4
Word count
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380SILENCE. New Zealander, Volume XXII, Issue 2393, 1 April 1865, Page 4
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