Is it that other climes display More flowery vales and brighter fountains, Scenes worthier of a poet's lay Than our Hibernia's emerald mountains? Has genius quite withdrawn her aid, Where once her beams celestial lighted? No, but there hangs a chilling shade Around, that every joy has blighted. * Prov. xxv. 25. Traced on each lofty height, Frail as the summer flower, And when around my way, The summer sunbeams play, When faint with toil and heat, Then lead my weary feet 'Neath the rock's cool retreat; Higher than I. Love too is written there; I read its traces fair Emblazoned high; For many a summer flower Smiles thro' its little hour, Fixed on that Rock of power Oh! Thou, the Christian's Rock! With thoughts of power oppressed, Still on thy love I rest; Almighty Ever-blest! Higher than I! E. M. I. |