A SUN-DAY HYMN Lord of all being! throned afar, Sun of our life, thy quickening ray Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn; Our noontide is thy gracious dawn; Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign; All, save the clouds of sin, are thine! Lord of all life, below, above, Before thy ever-blazing throne I thank you, Mr. President, you 've kindly broke the ice; Virtue should always be the first,—I'm only Second Vice (A vice is something with a screw that 's made to hold its jaw Till some old file has played away upon an ancient saw). Sweet brothers by the Mother's side, the babes of days gone by, All nurslings of her Juno breasts whose milk is never dry, We come again, like half-grown boys, and gather at her beck About her knees, and on her lap, and clinging round her neck. We find her at her stately door, and in her ancient chair, 10 Dressed in the robes of red and green she always loved to wear. Her eye has all its radiant youth, her cheek its morning flame; We drop our roses as we go, hers flourish still the same. We have been playing many an hour, and far away we 've strayed, Some laughing in the cheerful sun, some lingering in the shade; And some have tired, and laid them down What miles we 've travelled since we shook the dew-drops from our shoes We gathered on this classic green, so famed for heavy dues! How many boys have joined the game, how many slipped away, Since we 've been running up and down, and having out our play! 20 One boy at work with book and brief, and one with gown and band, One sailing vessels on the pool, one digging in the sand, TO MY READERS Nay, blame me not; I might have spared And some might say, "Those ruder songs The chestnut-burs await the frost." When those I wrote, my locks were brown, When these I write-ah, well-a-day! D The autumn thistle's silvery down Is not the purple bloom of May! Go, little book, whose pages hold O sexton of the alcoved tomb, It matters little, soon or late, A day, a month, a year, an age,— I read oblivion in its date, In many a battle's tempest It shed the crimson rain,- The Lord has led us forth, What troop is this that follows, They'll pile up Freedom's breastwork, The Lord has led us forth, To strike upon the captive's chain What song is this you 're singing? When Canaän's hosts are scattered, To Canaän, to Canaän The Lord has led us forth, To sweep the rebel threshing-floors, 30 50 60 |