And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death-yea-seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.
There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them--and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble and are still. Oh God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, sett'st on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill'st With all the waters of the firmament The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep and throws himself Upon the continent and overwhelms Its cities-who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate In these calm shades thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.
When first in ancient time, from Jubal's tongue The tuneful anthem filled the morning air, To sacred hymnings and elysian song His music-breathing shell the minstrel woke. Devotion breathed aloud from every chord :- The voice of praise was heard in every tone, And prayer, and thanks to Him, the eternal one,- To Him, that with bright inspiration touched The high and gifted lyre of heavenly song, And warmed the soul with new vitality. A stirring energy through nature breathed :--- The voice of adoration from her broke Swelling aloud in every breeze, and heard Long in the sullen waterfall,-what time Soft Spring or hoary Autumn threw on earth Its bloom or blighting,-when the Summer smiled, Or Winter o'er the year's sepulchre mourned. The Deity was there!-a nameless spirit
Moved in the hearts of men to do him homage; And when the morning smiled, or evening pale Hung weeping o'er the melancholy urn,
They came beneath the broad o’erarching trees, And in their tremulous shadow worshipped oft, Where the pale vine clung round their simple altars, And gray moss mantling hung. Above was heard The melody of winds, breathed out as the green trees Bowed to their quivering touch in living beauty, And birds sang forth their cheerful hymns. Below, The bright and widely wandering rivulet
Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots, That choked its reedy fountain-and dark rocks Worn smooth by the constant current. Even there The listless wave, that stole with mellow voice Where reeds grew rank upon the rushy brink, And to the wandering wind the green sedge bent, Sang a sweet song of fixed tranquillity.
Men felt the heavenly influence—and it stole Like balm into their hearts, till all was peace; And even the air they breathed, the light they saw,→ Became religion ;-for the etherial spirit,
That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling And mellows every thing to beauty, moved With cheering energy within their breasts, And made all holy there-for all was love. The morning stars, that sweetly sang together- The moon, that hung at night in the mid-sky- Dayspring-and eventide-and all the fair And beautiful forms of nature, had a voice
Of eloquent worship. Ocean with its tides Swelling and deep, where low the infant storm Hung on his dun, dark cloud, and heavily beat The pulses of the sea,-sent forth a voice Of awful adoration to the spirit,
That, wrapt in darkness, moved upon its face. And when the bow of evening arched the east, Or, in the moonlight pale, the gentle wave Kissed with a sweet embrace the sea-worn beach, And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters, The mingled melody of wind and wave Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear; For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship.
And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth No pure reflections caught from heavenly love?- Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song? Let him, that in the summer-day of youth Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling,- And him, that in the nightfall of his years Lies down in his last sleep, and shuts in peace His weary eyes on life's short wayfaring, Praise Him, that rules the destiny of man.
Again the infant flowers of Spring
Call thee to sport on thy rainbow wing- Spirit of Beauty! the air is bright
With the boundless flow of thy mellow light;
The woods are ready to bud and bloom,
And are weaving for Summer their quiet gloom; The tufted brook reflects, as it flows,
The tips of the half-unopened rose, And the early bird, as he carols free, Sings to his little love and thee.
See how the clouds, as they fleetly pass, Throw their shadowy veil on the darkening grass; And the pattering showers and stealing dews, With their starry gems and skyey hues, From the oozy meadow, that drinks the tide, To the sheltered vale on the mountain side, Wake to a new and fresher birth The tenderest tribes of teeming earth, And scatter with light and dallying play Their earliest flowers on the Zephyr's way.
He comes from the mountain's piny steep, For the long boughs bend with a silent sweep, And his rapid steps have hurried o'er The grassy hills to the pebbly shore;
And now, on the breast of the lonely lake,
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