From earth's redeemed; while many a twinkling throng But now she hovers; resting on those beams Sighing she turns to seek in Eden's bowers, Those founts of joy that spring from beds of flowers; The ripening fruit that clusters on the vine, And sprinkling with golden spray like floods of light, Flowers that bloom forever fresh and bright. THOUGHTS ON CREATION. Geologists surmise, Nay, prove it to a fraction, That this fair earth was at her birth In a state of liquefaction; But that nature and time wrought many a change And drew forth objects new and strange. The motion on her axis, Produced conglomeration; And soon a crust of rock and dust, A dent in this shell the ocean found, And left quite bare the fertile ground. The seasons went and came, But left no fossil time; Though herbs and trees, and flowers and bees, Meantime, while nature toiled, Tall mountains reared their heads. Reptiles and beasts had all been formed, And the air with birds and insects swarmed. Yet all was not complete; The lord of this creation Was not yet made to wield the spade, And nurture vegetation; But at length there sprang from nature's hand The crowning work, a perfect man. Thus, science contradicts The words of inspiration; For Moses says, within six days God finished all creation; The heavens, with all their clustering stars, The earth, its animals and flowers. That, on the seventh day, From all his works he rested; And that one, of seven, might taste of heaven, He hallowed it and blest it; As proof that these were days, not years, The evening and the morn appears. Yet should one dare to question LOVE'S CHAIN. Oh, why should poets dream so sadly! Or why, misanthropes, rave so madly, Linked to the brightest hopes we cherish, From things of nature's first creation, And hearts that throb with powers untold; From world to luminous world extending, Dimly it skirts hell's dark dominions, TWILIGHT SHADOWS. Twilight shadows thick were flying, Sprites with bat-like wings distended, Winds, that all the day had rustled Midnight gloom was creeping o'er me, Mournfully the windows clattered, Coals upon the grate were glowing, One by one I saw them dying, So, thought I, if all we cherish, Thus, if every pure emotion Sink in passion's boundless ocean, How shall every holy feeling Melt in christian light, revealing Softly o'er my brow were playing Breezes, while a voice seemed saying Morning shall dispel thy sadness, So shall faith unbar hope's prison, Setting conscience free; Mind shall soar on buoyant pinions, A FABLE. "In olden time," tradition says, A dignitary filled the chair, With parchment, scrip and scribe, A worthy sage, with numerous eyes, Arose, and in the following wise, Addressed the said convention. "Most excellent sir, and worthies all,' The speaker thus began, "Our tyrants, ever since the fall That so perverted man, That threw all nature out of gear, Have tried their subtlest arts, To see how they could best ensnare |