DAYS of my youth! ye have glided away;
Hairs of my youth! ye are frosted and grey;
Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more;
Cheeks of my youth! ye are furrow'd all o'er;
Strength of my youth! all thy vigour is gone;
Thoughts of my youth! your gay visions are flown.
Days of my youth! I wish not your recall;
Hairs of my youth! I'm content ye should fall;
Eyes of my youth! you much evil have seen;
Cheeks of my youth! bathed in tears you have been;
Thoughts of my youth! ye have led me astray;
Strength of my youth! why lament the decay?
Days of my age! ye will shortly be past;
Pains of my age! yet awhile ye can last;
Joys of my age! in true wisdom delight;
Eyes of my age! be religion your light;
Thoughts of my age! dread ye not the cold sod:
Hopes of my age! be
Chere is a Tongue in every Leaf.
THERE is a tongue in every leaf.
A voice in every rill;-
A voice that speaketh every where,
In flood and fire, through earth and air! A tongue that's never still.
'Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused
Through every thing we see,
That with our spirits communeth,
Of things mysterious-Life and Death,
Time and Eternity!
I see Him in the blazing sun,
And in the thunder-cloud;
I hear Him in the mighty roar,
That rusheth through the forest hoar,
When winds are piping loud.
I see Him, hear Him, every where,
In all things-darkness, light,
Silence, and sound; but, most of all,
When slumber's dusky curtains fall,
At the dead hour of night.
THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.
I feel Him in the silent dews,
By grateful earth betrayed;
I feel Him in the gentle showers,
The soft south wind, the breath of flowers,
The sunshine and the shade,
And yet (ungrateful that I am)
I've turn'd in sullen mood
From all these things, whereof He said,
When the great whole was finished,
That they were "very good."
My sadness on the loveliest things
Fell like the unwholesome dew;
The darkness that encompass'd me,
The gloom I felt so palpably,
Mine own dark spirit threw.
Yet was He patient-slow to wrath,
Though every day provoked
By selfish pining, discontent,
Acceptance cold or negligent,
And promises revoked;
And still the same rich feast was spread
For my insensate heart!
Not always so I woke again
To join Creation's rapturous strain,
"O Lord, how good thou art!"
The clouds drew up, the shadows fled,
The glorious sun broke out,
And love, and hope, and gratitude,
Dispell'd that miserable mood
Of darkness and of doubt.
O THOU Great Being! what thou art,
Surpasses me to know;
Yet sure I am, that, known to thee
Are all thy works below.
Thy creature here before thee stands,
All wretched and distress'd;
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul,
Obey thy high behest.
Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act
From cruelty or wrath;
O free my weary eyes from tears,
Or close them fast in death.
But if I must afflicted be,
To suit some wise design;
Then man my soul with firm resolves
To bear and not repine!
My mother's voice! how often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely hours!
Like healing sent on wings of sleep,
Or dew to the unconscious flowers.
I can forget her melting prayer
While leaping pulses madly fly,
But in the still, unbroken air
Her gentle tone comes stealing by, And years, and sin, and manhood flee, And leave me at my mother's knee.
The book of nature, and the print
Of beauty on the whispering sea,
Give
aye to me some lineament
Of what I have been taught to be.
My heart is harder, and perhaps
My manliness hath drunk up tears,
And there's a mildew in the lapse
Of a few miserable years!
But Nature's book is even yet
With all my mother's lessons writ.
I have been out at eventide,
Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, When Earth was garnish'd like a bride, And Night had on her silver wing
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