Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

I think of human sorrow

But as of clouds that brood
Upon the bosom of the day,
And the next moment pass away;
And with a trusting heart I say,
Thank God, all things are good!

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

How beautiful this dome of sky,

And the vast hills in fluctuation fixed

At Thy command, how awful! Shall the Soul,
Human and rational, report of Thee

Even less than these? Be mute who will, who can,
Yet I will praise Thee with impassioned voice:
My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd,
Cannot forget Thee here; where Thou hast built,
For thy own glory, in the wilderness!
Me didst Thou constitute a priest of thine,
In such a temple as we now behold

Reared for thy presence: therefore am I bound
To worship, here and everywhere, as one

Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread,
From childhood up, the ways of poverty;
From unreflecting ignorance preserved,

[merged small][ocr errors]

And from debasement rescued. By Thy grace
The particle divine remained unquenched;
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil,
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers,
From Paradise transplanted: wintry age
Impends; the frost will gather round my heart;
If the flowers wither, I am worse than dead!
Come, Labor, when the worn-out frame requires
Perpetual sabbath; come, disease and want;
And sad exclusion through decay of sense;
But leave me unabated trust in Thee,
And let thy favor, to the end of life,
Inspire me with ability to seek

Repose and hope among eternal things,
Father of heaven and earth! and I am rich,
And will possess my portion in content.

A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

AN EXTRACT.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

THE calmness of this noontide hour,
The shadow of this wood,

The fragrance of each wilding flower,
Are marvellously good;

O, here crazed spirits breathe the balm
Of nature's solitude!

It is a most delicious calm
That resteth everywhere, -
The holiness of soul-sung psalm,
Of felt but voiceless prayer!

With hearts too full to speak their bliss,
God's creatures silent are.

They silent are; but not the less,
In this most tranquil hour
Of deep unbroken dreaminess,
They own that Love and Power
Which, like the softest sunshine, rests
On every leaf and flower.

How silent are the song-filled nests
That crowd this drowsy tree!
How mute is every feathered breast
That swelled with melody!

And yet bright, bead-like eyes declare

This hour is ecstasy.

Heart forth as uncaged bird through air,

And mingle in the tide.

Of blessed things, that, lacking care,

Now full of beauty glide

Around thee, in their angel hues

Of joy and sinless pride.

Here, on this green bank that o'erviews The far-retreating glen,

A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

9

Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse
On all within thy ken;

For lovelier scene shall never break
On thy dimmed sight again.

Slow stealing through the tangled brake

That skirts the distant hill,

With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make

For yonder lapsing rill;

Meek children of the forest gloom,
Drink on, and fear no ill!

I bend me towards the tiny flower,
That underneath this tree
Opens its little breast of sweets
In meekest modesty,

And breathes the eloquence of love,
In muteness, Lord! to thee.

Far down the glen in distance gleams
The hamlet's tapering spire,

And glittering in meridial beams,
Its vane is tongued with fire;
And hark how sweet its silvery bell,
And hark the rustic choir!

The holy sounds float up the dell
To fill my ravished ear,

And now the glorious anthems swell

Of worshippers sincere,—

Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed
Faith's penitential tear.

Dear Lord! thy shadow is forth spread

On all mine eye can see;

And, filled at the pure fountain-head

Of deepest piety,

My heart loves all created things,
And travels home to thee.

Around me while the sunshine flings
A flood of mocky gold,

My chastened spirit once more sings,
As it was wont of old,

That lay of gratitude which burst
From young heart uncontrolled,

When, in the midst of nature nursed,
Sweet influences fell

On childly hearts that were athirst,

Like soft dews in the bell

Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads, And breathed a fresher smell.

So, even now this hour hath sped
In rapturous thought o'er me,
Feeling myself with nature wed, -
A holy mystery,-

A part of earth, a part of heaven,
A part, great God! of thee.

« ZurückWeiter »