Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB
[graphic][merged small][merged small]

WOW came still evening on, and twilight To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the

NOW

gray

Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,

Were slunk; all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant sung; Silence was pleased; now glowed the firmament

With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest; till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

When Adam thus to Eve: "Fair consort, the hour

Of night, and all things now retired to rest, Mind us of like repose; since God hath set Labor and rest, as day and night, to men Successive; and the timely dew of sleep, Now falling with soft slumberous weight, in

clines

Our eyelids; other creatures all day long
Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest;
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity,
And the regard of Heaven on all his ways;
While other animals unactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account.

[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][merged small][merged small]

HE harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;

The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.

And prayer is made, and praise is given,
By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
And mirrors every star.

Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
As kneels the human knee,
Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea.

They pour their glittering treasures forth,
Their gifts of pearl they bring,
And all the listening hills of earth
Take up the song they sing.

The green earth sends her incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.

The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.

The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
Or low with sobs of pain,

The thunder-organ of the cloud,
The dropping tears of rain.

With drooping head and branches crossed,
The twilight forest grieves,

Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
From all its sunlit leaves.

The blue sky is the temple's arch,
Its transept, earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The choirs of a prayer.

So Nature keeps the reverent frame
With which her years began,
And all her signs and voices shame
The prayerless heart of man.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Wherever through the ages rise
The atters of self-sacrifice,
Where love to arms has opened wid
&r man for man has calmly died
Brman
I see the fance white wings outspread
That hovered ver the Master's head
Lip from unidated time they conce
The martyr souls of heathend in
and to His cross and pastion bring
Their fellowship of suffering.
John Gldhitter

[blocks in formation]

Almighty! thine this universal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!

Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.

Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven;
On earth join all ye creatures, to extol

Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling

morn

With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy

sphere,

While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,

Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his

praise

In thy eternal course, both when thou climb

'st,

And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.

Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now flyest

With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that

flies;

And ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance, not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light.

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix,
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless

change

Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honor to the world's great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored

sky,

Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters
blow,

Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye

pines,

With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices all, ye living souls; ye birds, That singing up to Heaven's gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.

`Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good; and, if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
JOHN MILTON.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

But could not make the riddle plain;
It lay beyond his thought.

To-day the statue seemed to grow,
To-morrow it stood still;

The third day all was well again;
Thus, year by year, in joy and pain,
He wrought his Master's will.

At last his life-long work was done,-
It was a happy day:

He took his statue to the King,
But trembled like a guilty thing,
Because it was but clay!

"Where is my statue ?" asked the King.

"Here, Lord," the sculptor said.

66 True,

"But I commanded marble."
But lacking that, what could I do
But mould in clay instead?"

"Thou shalt not unrewarded go,
Since thou hast done thy best;
Thy statue shall acceptance win,
It shall be as it should have been,
For I will do the rest."

He touched the statue and it changed;
The clay falls off, and lo!

A marble shape before Him stands, The perfect work of heavenly hands,

An angel pure as snow!

D

RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

UP-HILL.

OES the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.

231

[graphic]

Will the day's journey take the whole long

day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at the door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI.

« AnteriorContinuar »