COME Grief, and sing a solemn dirge
Beneath this midnight shade;
From central darkness now emerge,
And tread the lonely glade.
This is the cheerless hour of night,
For sorrow only made;
When no intrusive rays of light,
The silent gloom pervade.
Though such the darkness of my soul,
Not such the calmness there;
But waves of guilt tumultuous roll
'Midst billows of despair.
Fallacious Pleasure's tinsel train
My soul rejects with scorn;
If higher joys she can't attain,
She'd rather choose to mourn.
For bliss superior she was made;
Or for extreme despair;
If pain awaits her past the dead,
Why should she triumph here?
Tho' Reason points at good supreme,
Yet Grace must lead us thence
Must wake us from this pleasing dream,
The idle joys of Sense.
Surely I wish the blackest night
Of Nature to remain,
Till Christ arise with healing light,
Then welcome day again.