Swift birds that skim o'er the stormy deep
Who steadily onward your journey keep,
Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay,
But press still forward, by night and day—
As in your unwearying course ye fly
Beneath the clear and unclouded sky;
O may we, without delay, like you,
The path of duty and right pursue.
Sweet birds that breathe the spirit of song,
And surround Heaven's gate in melodious throng,
Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay,
You remind us that we should likewise raise
The voice of devotion and song of praise;
There's something about you that points on high,
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky!
NoT worlds on worlds in phalanx deep,
Need we to prove a God is here:
The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep
Tells of His hand in lines as clear.
For who but he that arch'd the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all He tries,
Could rear the daisy's purple bud—
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That set in silver gleams within-
Then fling it, unrestrained and free,
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see
In every step, the stamp of God?
Power and Benegaleure.
GOD is not great because omnipotent!
But because power in Him is understood,
And felt and prov'd to be benevolent,
And wise, and holy;-thus it ever should!
For what He wills, we know is pure and good,
And has in view the happiness of all:
Hence love and adoration ;- -never could
The contrite spirit at His footstool fall,
If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal.
If then divinest power be truly so,
Because its object is mankind to bless; It follows, that all power which man can know, The highest even monarchs can posse's, Displays alone their "less than littlenes," Unless it seek the happiness of man,
And glory of the highest ;—nothing less Than such a use of power one moment can
Make its possessor great, on wisdom's god-like
A Churchyard Srene.
How sweet and solemn, all alone,
With reverend step, from stone to stone,
In a small village churchyard lying,
O'er intervening flowers to move-
And as we read the names unknown,
Of young and old, to judgment gone,
And hear, in the calm air above,
Time onward, softly flying,
To meditate, in Christian love
Upon the dead and dying!
Across the silence, seem to go
With dream-like motion, wavery, slow,
And shrouded in their folds of snow,
The friends we loved long, long ago!
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