William B. Tappan (1794–1849)

O COME from a world, where sorrow and gloom,

Chastise the allurements of joy;

A pathway bedimm’d, with no rays to illume,

Save the meteor that shines to destroy;

Where the thoughtless have revell’d, when mirth had no charm,

Where the wounded have wept, but still needed the balm.

O come from a world, where the landscape is chill,

Or deceitfully blossoming fair,

The garden gives promise of bright flowers, still,

The nightshade luxuriates there;

That sky, now serene, blushing lovely and clear,

O heed not its beauty, the storm-cloud is near.

O come from a world, where the cup of delight

Now sparkles and foams at the brim;

For the laurels that wreath it, reflection shall blight,

Its lustre, repentance shall dim;

The lips, that convivial, have pledged thee the bowl,

Shall blanch with confusion when fear rives the soul.

O come from a world, where they that beguile

Will lead thee to peril and fears;

For the heart that, confiding, hath welcomed its smile,

Hath found it the prelude to tears:

Come then, there ’s a path by the reckless untrod;

O come, weary wanderer, it leads to thy God.