Classic Poem

I've heard of some whose genial forces fail,
Victims of sickness, wasting slow and sure,
Who ne'er again shall meet the joyous gale,
Ne'er bound o'er springy turf with step secure.

Yet these can smile, or if a tear they shed,
It cools the " fever of the languid heart", —
Gay hope and joy — Life's fragrance — all are fled,
And they resigned and almost pleased to part.

While Pain relenting leaves them doubly calm.
Or Fever paints the vivid glowing dream,
O'er aching brows Affection sheds her balm,
And lovely forms from Memory's mansion stream.

No gloom is theirs, while clothed in Heav'n's own light
Yon Lake upholds her liquid mirror near;
For them the trees and flow'rs are blooming bright,
The woodland quire for them is echoing clear.

The world recedes, but patient Faith has made
An inner world to which their soul conforms —
They loved the sunshine, but can brook the shade,
Glad to find shelter from careering storms.

The keen regret to feel that now no more
They act in busy scenes their strenuous part
Is past away — life's task not wholly o'er, —
To suffer bravely satisfies the heart.

The ruddy cheek, the gay and sparkling eye,
Their vigorous neighbour's mien with health elate,
Spreads sunshine o'er the breast, that heaves no sigh,
Nor heeds the contrast to their own estate.

They love the flow'rs by friendly hands enwreathed —
Ah! never more to wander where they grow!
Some cheerful tale in gentlest accents breathed,
Can light in faded cheeks a transient glow.

Their steadfast fancy by no fears opprest
Reveals a soothing vision to their sight;
They see a grassy grave with daisies drest
And bathed in heav'nly beams of cheering light: —

A grave, the image of that perfect rest
Which he who promised surely will bestow —
Sunbeams that tell them of those mansions blest
Whither th' ecstatic spirit longs to go.