OH ! I thou! whose Genius as thy Virtue shines,
Around whose brows the wreath of Fame entwines;
Benign Preceptress of thy native Isle,
Beneath whose guardian Care the Virtues smile;
Thou boast and glory of thy Sex and age,
What beams of light irradiate thy page!
There, polished Science every grace bestows,
And from thy pen the stream of knowledge flows.
There, rich Imagination’s chasten’d fire
Gives birth to thoughts which Seraphs might inspire,
But guided still by Judgment’s wiser sway,
Thy fancy beams not with too bright a ray;
But o’er thy page diffuses soften’d light,
Mild as the shining way which gilds the vault of night.
Celestial wisdom glows in every line,
The writer, human–but the Theme, divine!
A Theme, which Angels in their Courts above,
Contemplate still with new delight and Love:
A Theme, which Zion’s heav’nly muse has sung,
While with the Strains sublime, the mountain rung:
A Theme at which the morning Stars rejoice,
Which tunes the Seraph’s lyre, the Angel’s voice,
Which “heavenly Hosts” imparted first to Man,
(While thro’ the Courts of Heaven, the echo ran)
“Good will to man, Eternal Peace on Earth”
“This sacred day has given a Saviour birth.”
This is the Theme which all thy soul inspires,
Which bids thy bosom glow with heav’nly fires;
Which makes thee rise above terrestrial things,
And soar to Heaven on the Seraph’s wings;
And, while the graces on thy page appear,
And Learning’s ample stores are open’d there,
Truth, sacred Truth, illuminates the whole,
And bright it shines, the transcript of thy Soul!
Display’d by thee, our various duties shine
With life and light, and energy divine.
Inspired by thee, the Sister, Daughter, Wife,
Treads with more care the thorny ways of Life;
And taught by thee , the Christian learns to bear
With pious strength the ills that meet him here.
Where howls the Tempest, and where lowers the Storm,
The Christian views a fair, etherial form;
And, while the dark’ning clouds around him frown,
More brightly shines his everlasting Crown.
The erring steps of inexperienc’d Youth,
Thou leadest gently to the source of Truth;
Thou bids’t them, not to faint Castalia go,
But to that stream, whence “living waters” flow.
Adorn’d by thee each Virtue fairer shines,
Thou to each grace it’s proper sphere assigns;
Mak’st each alike, essential to the whole,
Breathing thro’ all a Principle , a Soul;
The rays of goodness thus, commingling blend,
And thus to God, their centre, ever tend.
As, when beneath the Painter’s magic hand,
We see a landscape rise at his command;
At the first glance a thousand charms we view,
The Grove’s soft bloom, the Heaven’s cerulean hue,
But, as we gaze we see with wondering eyes,
New Graces smile, and new attractions rise,
Thus has thy skilful painting well pourtray’d
Th’ Apostle’s mind, in every charm array’d;
Thus hast thou brought each Virtue into light,
Bade new perfections rise before our sight;
Seiz’d every modest grace that sought the shade,
And brought it forth in native charms display’d.
And, as we read, th’ Apostle’s conduct seems
Glowing with radiant and effulgent beams.
A thousand Virtues, by thy hand brought forth,
Now stand reveal’d in all their native worth;
And Paul’s own spirit dictates every line,
With eloquence, and grace, and strength divine.
Like his , thy words possess the happy art
To win the affections, and to teach the Heart.
As years revolving beat thy strength away,
And Nature owns her gradual decay,
Thy mental powers superior force acquire,
Thy Genius beams with more refulgent fire;
And, as the earthly frame still weaker grows,
Th’ etherial spirit more sublimely glows;
Weaker and weaker are the ties which bind
To scenes below thy Heav’n-aspiring mind;
Fainter and fainter grow the mists of sense,
And brighter shines the Saints’ intelligence;
Clear, and more clear, the heav’nly prospect beams,
Within thy reach the Crown of Glory seems;
Still lighter grows the weight which bars thy flight,
To the blest regions of Eternal Light,
Till freed by Death thy spirit soars away
To the bright realms of Everlasting Day.
(Mary Abel Clinckett)
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