Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread And blossoms on the ground. But yet by him, The Hermit of the Deep, not unobserved The Sabbath passes. 'Tis his great delight, Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray, And loves, and sighs to think,-that setting sun Is now empurpling Scotland's mountain tops, Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales, Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below Chant in the dewy shade. Thus all night long He watches, while the rising moon describes The progress of the day in happier lands. And now he almost fancies that he hears The chiming from his native village church; And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain May be the same that sweet ascends at home In congregation full,-where, not without a tear, They are remember'd who in ships behold The wonders of the deep: he sees the hand, The widow'd hand, that veils the eye suffused; He sees his orphan'd boy look up, and strive The widow'd heart to soothe. His spirit leans On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves On winds of cloudless wing; though lightnings So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen In awful alternation: Calm he views The far-exploding firmament, and dares To hope-one bolt in mercy is reserved For his release: and yet he is resign'd To live; because full well he is assured, Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds. And thy right hand does lead him. One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep, Music remote, swelling at intervals, As if the embodied spirit of such sounds Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave: The cadence well he knows,-a hymn of old, Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced, In midnight music, by an angel choir, To Bethlehem's shepherds, § as they watch'd their Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell. He looks, and starts to see, moving along, A fiery wave, (so seems it,) crescent form'd, Approaching to the land; straightway he sees A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-fill'd sails That waft the mission'd men, who have renounced Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world, Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again. Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides; It seems as it would pass away. To cry The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain, Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream: Not so his hand: he strikes the flint,-a blaze
"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep." Psal. cvii.
In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often without a cloud.
"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall bold me." Psal. cxxxix.
"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for, behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke ii. 8-14.
"In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar, as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long track of light behind it. Whenever the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted into little stars: every drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electrified in the dark.'-Darwin.
Mounts from the ready heap of wither'd leaves: The music ceases, accents harsh succeed, Harsh, but most grateful: downward drop the Ingulf'd the anchor sinks; the boat is launch'd; But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn:
O then the transport of the man unused To other human voice beside his own,- His native tongue to hear! he breathes at home, Though earth's diameter is interposed. Of perils of the sea he has no dread, Full well assured the nission'd bark is safe, Held in the hollow of the Almighty's hand. (And signal thy deliverances have been Of these thy messengers of peace and joy.) From storms that loudly threaten to unfix Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed, Thou dost deliver them,-and from the calm, More dreadful than the storm, when motionless Upon the purple deep the vessel lies
For days, for nights, illumed by phospher lamps; When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float; When backward starts the boldest mariner To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face As if deep-tinged with blood.- Let worldly men The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn, And call fanatics then who hazard health And life in testifying of the truth, Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ! What were the Galilean fishermen
But messengers, commission'd to announce The resurrection, and the life to come! They too, though clothed with power of mighty Miraculous, were oft received with scorn; Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend: But, when their efforts fail'd, unweariedly They onward went, rejoicing in their course. Like helianthus, borne on downy wings To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils Barren and thankless; yet oft-times they saw Their labours crown'd with fruit an hundred fold, Saw the new converts testify their faith By works of love,-the slave set free, the sick Attended, prisoners visited, the poor
Received as brothers at the rich man's board. Alas! how different now the deeds of men [slares! Nursed in the faith of Christ!-The free made Torn from their country, borne across the deep, Enchain'd, endungeon'd, forced by stripes to live, Doom'd to behold their wives, their little ones, Tremble beneath the white man's fiend-like frown! Yet even to scenes like these, the Sabbath brings Alleviation of the enormous wo:-
The oft-reiterated stroke is still;
The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds. But see, the demon man, whose trade is blood, With dauntless front, convene his ruffian crew To hear the sacred service read. Accursed, The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word Of God: Accursed, he ventures to pronounce The decalogue, nor falters at that law Wherein 'tis written, Thou shalt do no murder: Perhaps, while yet the words are on his lips, He hears a dying mother's parting groan; He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint, Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death.
O England! England! wash thy purpled hands Of this foul sin, and never dip them more In guilt so damnable! then lift them up In supplication to that God, whose name Is Mercy; then thou mayest, without the risk Of drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds, Implore protection to thy menaced shores; Then, God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head: Then will he turn the wolvish race to prey Upon each other; then will he arrest The lava torrent, causing it regorge Back to its source with fiery desolation.
Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied, 'Tis war alone that never violates
The hallow'd day by simulate respect,- By hypocritic rest: No, no, the work proceeds. From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags,
Sun flower. "The seeds of many plants of this kind are furnished with a plume, by which admirable mechanism they are disseminated far from their parent stem."-Darwin.
+ Church steeples are frequently used as signal posts.
That give the sign to slip the leash from slaughter. The bells, whose knoll a holy calmness pour'd Into the good man's breast,-whose sound solaced The sick, the poor, the old-perversion dire Pealing with sulphurous tongues, speak death. fraught words:
From morn to eve Destruction revels frenzied, Till at the hour when peaceful vesper-chimes Were wont to soothe the ear, the trumpet sounds Pursuit and flight altern; and for the song Of larks, descending to their grass-bower'd homes, The croak of flesh-gorged ravens, as they slake Their thirst in hoof-prints fill'd with gore, disturbs The stupor of the dying man; while Death Triumphantly sails down the ensanguined stream, On corses throned, and crown'd with shiver'd boughs,
That erst hung imaged in the crystal tide.
And what the harvest of these bloody fields? A double weight of fetters to the slave,
And chains on arms that wielded Freedom's sword. Spirit of Tell! and art thou doom'd to see Thy mountains, that confess'd no other chains Than what the wintry elements had forged,- Thy vales, where Freedom, and her stern compeer, Proud virtuous Poverty, their noble state Maintain'd, amid surrounding threats of wealth, Of superstition, and tyrannic sway- Spirit of Tell! and art thou doom'd to see That land subdued by Slavery's basest slaves; By men, whose lips pronounce the sacred name Of Liberty, then kiss the despot's foot? Helvetia hadst thou to thyself been true, Thy dying sons had triumph'd as they fell: But 'twas a glorious effort, though in vain. Aloft thy Genius, 'mid the sweeping clouds, The flag of freedom spread; bright in the storm The streaming meteor waved, and far it gleam'd: But, ah! 'twas transient, as the Iris' arch, Glanced from Leviathan's ascending shower, When 'mid the mountain waves heaving his head. Already had the friendly-seeming foe Possess'd the snow piled ramparts of the land: Down like an avalanche they roll'd, they crush'd The temple, palace, cottage, every work Of art and nature, in one common ruin. The dreadful crash is o'er, and peace ensues,- The peace of desolation, gloomy, still: Each day is hush'd as Sabbath; but, alas! No Sabbath-service glads the seventh day! No more the happy villagers are seen
Winding adown the rock-hewn paths, that wont To lead their footsteps to the house of prayer; But, far apart, assembled in the depth
Of solitudes, perhaps a little group Of aged men, and orphan boys, and maids, Bereft, list to the breathings of the holy man, Who spurns an oath of fealty to the power Of rulers chosen by a tyrant's nod.
No more, as dies the rustling of the breeze, Is heard the distant vesper-hymn; no more At gloamin hour, the plaintive strain, that linke His country to the Switzer's heart, delights The loosening team; or if some shepherd boy Attempt the strain, his voice soon faltering stops; He feels his country now a foreign land.
O Scotland! canst thou for a moment brook The mere imagination, that a fate
Like this should e'er be thine! that o'er these hills And dear-bought vales, whence Wallace, Douglas,
Repell'd proud Edward's multitudinous hordes, A Gallic foe, that abject race, should rule! No, no let never hostile standard touch Thy shore: rush, rush into the dashing brine, And crest each wave with steel; and should the Of Slavery's footstep violate the strand, Let not the tardy tide efface the mark; Sweep off the stigma with a sea of blood!
Thrice happy he, who, far in Scotish glen Retired, (yet ready at his country's call,) Has left the restless emmet-hill of man: He never longs to read the saddening tale Of endless wars; and seldom does he hear The tale of wo; and ere it reaches him, Rumour, so loud when new, has died away Into a whisper, on the memory borne Of casual traveller-as on the deep,
After a heavy cannonade, the shivered branches of trees, and the corpses of the killed, are seen float. rng together down the rivers.
Far from the sight of land, when all around Is waveless calm, the sudden tremulous swell, That gently heaves the ship, tells, as it rolls, Of earthquakes dread, and cities overthrown. O Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales: But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight, Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs; Or, when the simple service ends, to hear The lifted latch, and mark the gray-hair'd man, The father and the priest, walk forth alone Into his garden-plat, or little field,
To commune with his God in secret prayer,- To bless the Lord, that in his downward years His children are about him: Sweet, meantime, The thrush, that sings upon the aged thorn, Brings to his view the days of youthful years When that same aged thorn was but a bush. Nor is the contrast between youth and age To him a painful thought; he joys to think His journey near a close,-heaven is his home. More happy far that man, though bowed down, Though feeble be his gait, and dim his eye, Than they, the favourites of youth and health, Of riches, and of fame, who have renounced The glorious promise of the life to come, Clinging to death.-
Or mark that female face, The faded picture of its former self,- The garments coarse, but clean;-frequent at I've noted such a one, feeble and pale, 1church Yet standing, with a look of mild content, Till beckon'd by some kindly hand to sit. She had seen better days; there was a time Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give To those who were in want; but now old age, And lingering disease, have made her helpless. Yet she is happy, ay, and she is wise, (Philosophers may sneer, and pedants frown,) Although her Bible is her only book; And she is rich, although her only wealth Is recollection of a well-spent life-
Is expectation of the life to come. Examine here, explore the narrow path In which she walks; look not for virtuous deeds In history's arena, where the prize
Of fame, or power, prompts to heroic acts. Peruse the lives themselves of men obscure:- There charity, that robs itself to give; There fortitude in sickness, nursed by want; There courage, that expects no tongue to praise; There virtue lurks, like purest gold deep hid, With no alloy of selfish motive mix'd.
The poor man's boon, that stints him of his bread, Is prized more highly in the sight of Him Who sees the heart, than golden gifts from hands That scarce can know their countless treasures
Be deem'd unworthy ?-Far be such a thought! Even when the rich bestow, there are sure tests Of genuine charity;-Yes, yes, let wealth Give other alms than silver or than gold,- Time, trouble, toil, attendance, watchfulness, Exposure to disease;-yes, let the rich Be often seen beneath the sick man's roof; Or cheering, with inquiries from the heart, And hopes of health, the melancholy range Of couches in the public wards of wo: There let them often bless the sick man's bed, With kind assurances that all is well
At home, that plenty smiles upon the board,- The while the hand that earn'd the frugal meal
"And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily, I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance, but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living." Mark xii. 41-44.
Can hardly raise itself in sign of thanks. Above all duties, let the rich man search Into the cause he knoweth not, nor spurn The suppliant wretch as guilty of a crime.
Ye, bless'd with wealth! (another name for power Of doing good,) O would ye but devote A little portion of each seventh day To acts of justice to your fellow men! The house of mourning silently invites: Shun not the crowded alley; prompt descend Into the half-sunk cell, darksome and damp; Nor seem impatient to be gone: Inquire, Console, instruct, encourage, soothe, assist; Read, pray, and sing a new song to the Lord; Make tears of joy down grief-worn furrows flow. O Health! thou sun of life, without whose
The fairest scenes of nature seem involved In darkness, shine upon my dreary path Once more; or, with thy faintest dawn, give hope, That I may yet enjoy thy vital ray ! Though transient be the hope, 'twill be most sweet, Like midnight music, stealing on the ear, Then gliding past, and dying slow away. Music! thou soothing power, thy charm is proved Most vividly when clouds o'ercast the soul; So light its loveliest effect displays
In lowering skies, when through the murky rack A slanting sun-beam shoots, and instant limns. The ethereal curve of seven harmonious dyes, Eliciting a splendour from the gloom:
O Music! still vouchsafe to tranquillize This breast perturb'd; thy voice, though mournful, soothes;
And mournful aye are thy most beauteous lays, Like fall of blossoms from the orchard boughs,-- The autumn of the spring. Enchanting power! Who, by thy airy spell, canst whirl the mind Far from the busy haunts of men, to vales Where Tweed or Yarrow flows; or, spurning time Recal red Flodden field; or suddenly
Transport, with alter'd strain, the deafen'd ear To Linden's plain !-But what the pastoral lay, The melting dirge, the battle's trumpet-peal, Compared to notes with sacred numbers link'd In union, solemn, grand! O then the spirit, Upborne on pinions of celestial sound, Soars to the throne of God, and ravish'd hears Ten thousand times ten thousand voices rise In halleluiahs;-voices, that erewhile Were feebly tuned perhaps to low-breath'd hymns Of solace in the chambers of the poor,- The Sabbath worship of the friendless sick.
Bless'd be the female votaries, whose days No Sabbath of their pious labours prove, Whose lives are consecrated to the toil Of ministering around the uncurtain'd couch Of pain and poverty! Bless'd be the hands, The lovely hands, (for beauty, youth, and grace, Are oft conceal'd by Pity's closest veil,) That mix the cup medicinal, that bind The wounds which ruthless warfare and disease Have to the loathsome lazar-house consign'd.
Fierce Superstition of the mitred king! Almost I could forget thy torch and stake, When I this blessed sisterhood survey,- Compassion's priestesses, disciples true
Of him whose touch was health, whose single word
Electrified with life the palsied arm,- Of him who said, Take up thy bed and walk,- Of him who cried to Lazarus, Come forth.
And he who cried to Lazarus, Come forth, Will, when the Sabbath of the tomb is past, Call forth the dead, and re-unite the dust (Transform'd and purified) to angel souls. Ecstatic hope! belief! conviction firm! How grateful 'tis to recollect the time When hope arose to faith! Faintly at first The heavenly voice is heard; then, by degrees, Its music sounds perpetual in the heart. Thus he, who all the gloomy winter long Has dwelt in city crowds, wandering a-field Betimes on Sabbath morn, ere yet the spring Unfold the daisy's bud, delighted hears The first lark's note, faint yet, and short the song, Check'd by the chill ungenial northern breeze; But, as the sun ascends, another springs, And still another soars on loftier wing, Till all o'erhead, the joyous choir unseen, Poised welkin high, harmonious fills the air, As if it were a link 'tween earth and heaven.
Most earnest was his voice! most mild his look, As with raised hands he bless'd his parting flock. He is a faithful pastor of the poor;-
He thinks not of himself; his Master's words, Feed, feed my sheep are ever at his heart, The cross of Christ is aye before his eyes. O, how I love, with melted soul, to leave The house of prayer, and wander in the fields Alone! What though the opening spring be chill! Although the lark, check'd in his airy path That still o'ertops the blade! Although no branch Eke out his song, perch'd on the fallow clod, Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream! What though the clouds oft lower! Their threats but end
In sunny showers, that scarcely fill the folds Of moss-couch'd violet, or interrupt The merle's dulcet pipe,-melodious bird! He, hid behind the milk-white slow-thorn spray, (Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf,) Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year.
Sweet is the sunny nook, to which my steps Have brought me, hardly conscious where I roam'd Unheeding where,-so lovely all around The works of God, array'd in vernal smile!
Oft at this season, musing, I prolong My devious range, till, sunk from view, the sun Emblaze, with upward-slanting ray, the breast, And wing unquivering of the wheeling lark, Descending, vocal, from her latest flight; While, disregardful of yon lonely star,- The harbinger of chill night's glittering host,- Sweet Redbreast, Scotia's Philomela, chants, In desultory strains, his evening hymn.
DELIGHTFUL is this loneliness; it calms My heart pleasant the cool beneath these elms, That throw across the stream a moveless shade. Here nature in her midnoon whisper speaks; How peaceful every sound!-the ring-dove's plaint, Moan'd from the twilight centre of the grove,, While every other woodland lay is mute, [nest, Save when the wren flits from her down-coved And from the root-sprig trills her ditty clear,- The grasshopper's oft-pausing chirp,-the buzz, Angrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee, That, soon as loosed, booms with full twang away, The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal, Scared from the shallows by my passing tread. Dimpling the water glides, with here and there A glossy fly, skimming in circlets gay The treacherous surface, while the quick-eyed trout Watches his time to spring; or, from above, Some feather'd dam, purveying midst the boughs, Darts from her perch, and to her plumeless brood Bears off the prize:-Sad emblem of man's lot! He, giddy insect, from his native leaf, (Where safe and happily he might have lurk'd,) Elate upon ambition's gaudy wings, Forgetful of his origin, and, worse, Unthinking of his end, flies to the stream; And if from hostile vigilance he 'scape, Buoyant he flutters but a little while,
"So when he had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs. He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved, because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep," John xxi. 15-17.
Mistakes th' inverted image of the sky For heaven itself, and, sinking, meets his fate. Now let me trace the stream up to its source Among the hills; its runnel by degrees Diminishing, the murmur turns a tinkle. Closer and closer still the banks approach, Tangled so thick with pleaching bramble shoots, With brier, and hazel branch, and hawthorn spray, That, fain to quit the dangle, glad I mount Into the open air: Grateful the breeze
That fans my throbbing temples! smiles the plain Spread wide below: how sweet the placid view! But, O! more sweet the thought, heart-soothing thought,
That thousands, and ten thousands of the sons Of toil, partake this day the common joy Of rest, of peace, of viewing hill and dale, Of breathing in the silence of the woods, And blessing Him who gave the Sabbath day. Yes, my heart flutters with a freer throb, To think that now the townsman wanders forth Among the fields and meadows, to enjoy The coolness of the day's decline; to see His children sport around, and simply pull The flower and weed promiscuous, as a boon, Which proudly in his breast they smiling fix. Again I turn me to the hill, and trace The wizard stream, now scarce to be discern'd; Woodless its banks, but green with ferny leaves, And thinly strew'd with heath-bells up and down. Now, when the downward sun has left the glens Each mountain's rugged lineaments are traced Upon the adverse slope, where stalks gigantic The shepherd's shadow thrown athwart the chasm, As on the topmost ridge he homeward hies. How deep the hush! the torrent's channel dry, Presents a stony steep, the echo's haunt. But, hark, a plaintive sound floating along! 'Tis from yon heath-roof'd shielin; now it dies Away, now rises full; it is the song Which He,-who listens to the halleluiahs Of choiring Seraphim, delights to hear; It is the music of the heart, the voice Of venerable age,-of guileless youth, In kindly circle seated on the ground Before their wicker door. Behold the man! The grandsire and the saint; his silvery locks Beam in the parting ray: before him lies, Upon the smooth cropt sward, the open book, His comfort, stay, and ever new delight! While, heedless, at his side, the lisping boy Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his couch.
AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK. WHEN homeward bands their several ways disperse, I love to linger in the narrow field
Of rest, to wander round from tomb to tomb, And think of some who silent sleep below. Sad sighs the wind, that from those ancient elms Shakes showers of leaves upon the wither'd grass : The sere and yellow wreaths, with eddying sweep, Fill up the furrows 'tween the hillock'd graves. But list that moan! 'tis the poor blind man's dog, His guide for many a day, now come to mourn The master and the friend-conjunction rare! A man indeed he was of gentle soul,
Though bred to brave the deep: the lightning's flash
[eyes. Had dimm'd, not closed, his mild, but sightless He was a welcome guest through all his range! It was not wide:) no dog would bay at him; Children would run to meet him on his way, And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb His knee, and wonder at his oft-told tales. Then would he teach the elfins how to plait The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy ship; And I have seen him lay his tremulous hand Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips. Peace to thy spirit! that now looks on me Perhaps with greater pity than I felt To see thee wandering darkling on thy way. But let me quit this melancholy spot, And roam where nature gives a parting smile. As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod
That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods A second blow of many flowers appears; Flowers faintly tinged, and breathing no perfume. But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath That circles Autumn's brow: the ruddy haws
Now clothe the half-leaved thorn; the bramble Beneath its jetty load; the hazel hangs [bends With auburn branches, dipping in the stream That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow The leaf-strewn banks: Oft, statue-like, I gaze, In vacancy of thought, upon that stream, And chase, with dreaming eye, the eddying foam; Or rowan's cluster'd branch, or harvest sheaf, Borne rapidly adown the dizzying flood.
A WINTER SABBATH WALK. How dazzling white the snowy scene! deep, deep, The stillness of the winter Sabbath day,Not even a foot-fall heard.-Smooth are the fields, Each hollow pathway level with the plain: Hid are the bushes, save that, here and there, Are seen the topmost shoots of brier or broom. High-ridged, the whirled drift has almost reach'd The powder'd key-stone of the church-yard porch Mute hangs the hooded bell; the tombs lie buried No step approaches to the house of prayer.
The flickering fall is o'er; the clouds disperse And show the sun, hung o'er the welkin's verge, Shooting a bright but ineffectual beam On all the sparkling waste. Now is the time To visit nature in her grand attire; Though perilous the mountainous ascent, A noble recompense the danger brings. How beautiful the plain stretch'd far below! Unvaried though it be, save by yon stream With azure windings, or the leafless wood. But what the beauty of the plain, compared To that sublimity which reigns enthroned, Holding joint rule with solitude divine, Among yon rocky fells, that bid defiance To steps the most adventurously bold! There silence dwells profound; or if the cry Of high-poised eagle break at times the calm, The mantled echoes no response return.
But let me now explore the deep sunk dell. No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's, Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green. Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous haunts, Nor linger there too long: the wintry day Soon closes; and full oft a heavier fall Heap'd by the blast, fills up the shelter'd glen, While, gurgling deep below, the buried rill Mines for itself a snow-coved way. O! then, Your helpless charge drive from the tempting spot, And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side, Where night-winds sweep the gathering drift
Six days the heavenly host, in circle vast, Like that untouching cincture which enzones The globe of Saturn, compass'd wide this orb, And with the forming mass floated along, In rapid course, through yet untravell'd space, Beholding God's stupendous power,-a world Bursting from chaos at the omnific will, And perfect ere the sixth day's evening star On Paradise arose. Blessed that eve! The Sabbath's harbinger, when, all complete, In freshest beauty from Jehovah's hand, Creation bloom'd; when Eden's twilight face Smiled like a sleeping babe. The voice divine A holy calm breathed o'er the goodly work; Mildly the sun, upon the loftiest trees,
Shed mellowly a sloping beam. Peace reign'd, And love, and gratitude; the human pair Their orisons pour'd forth; love, concord, reign'd The falcon, perch'd upon the blooming bough With Philomela, listen'd to her lay; Among the antler'd herd, the tiger couch'd Harmless; the lion's mane no terror spread Among the careless ruminating flock. Silence was o'er the deep; the noiseless surge, The last subsiding wave,-of that dread tumult Which raged, when Ocean, at the mute command, Rush'd furiously into his new-cleft bed,- Was gently rippling on the pebbled shore; While, on the swell, the sea-bird with her head Wing-veil'd, slept tranquilly. The host of heaven, Entranced in new delight, speechless adored; Nor stopp'd their fleet career, nor changed their form
Encircular, till on that hemisphere,- In which the blissful garden sweet exhaled Its incense, odorous clouds,-the Sabbath dawn Arose; then wide the flying circle oped, And soar'd, in semblance of a mighty rainbow Silent ascend the choirs of Seraphim;
No harp resounds, mute is each voice; the burst Of joy and praise reluctant they repress,— For love and concord all things so attuned To harmony, that Earth must have received The grand vibration, and to the centre shook : But soon as to the starry altitudes
T'hey reach'd, then what a storm of sound tremendous
Swell'd through the realms of space! The morn. ing stars
Together sang, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy! Loud was the peal; so loud As would have quite o'erwhelm'd the human sense; But to the earth it came a gentle strain, Like softest fall breathed from Eolian lute, When 'mid the chords the evening gale expires. Day of the Lord! creation's hallow'd close! Day of the Lord! (prophetical they sang,) Benignant mitigation of that doom
Which must, ere long, consign the fallen race, Dwellers in yonder star, to toil and woe!
THE FINDING OF MOSES.
SLOW glides the Nile: amid the margin flags, Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left,- Left by a mother's hand. His sister waits Far off; and pale, 'tween hope and fear, beholds The royal maid, surrounded by her train, Approach the river bank,-approach the spot Where sleeps the innocent: She sees them stoop With meeting plumes; the rushy lid is.oped, And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears, As when along a little mountain lake
The summer south-wind breathes, with gentle sigh, And parts the reeds, unveiling, as they bend, A water-lily floating on the wave.
JACOB AND PHARAOH.
PHARAOH upon a gorgeous throne of state Was seated; while around him stood submiss His servants, watchful of his lofty looks. The Patriarch enters, leaning on the arm Of Benjamin. Unmoved by all the glare Of royalty, he scarcely throws a glance Upon the pageant show; for from his youth A shepherd's life he led, and view'd each night The starry host; and still, where'er he went, He felt himself in presence of the Lord. His eye is bent on Joseph, him pursues. Sudden the king descends; and, bending, kneels Before the aged man, and supplicates A blessing from his lips! The aged man Lays on the ground his staff, and stretching forth His tremulous hand o'er Pharaoh's uncrown'd head, Prays that the Lord would bless him and his land."
FROM Conquest Jephtha came, with faltering step And troubled eye: His home appears in view; He trembles at the sight. Sad he forbodes,-
His vow will meet a victim in his child: For well he knows, that, from her earliest years, She still was first to meet his homeward steps: Well he remembers, how, with tottering gait, She ran, and clasp'd his knees, and lisp'd, and look'd
Her joy; and how, when garlanding with flowers His helm, fearful, her infant hand would shrink Back from the lion couch'd beneath the crest. What sound is that, which, from the palm-tree grove,
Floats now with choral swell, now fainter falls Upon the ear? It is, it is the song
He loved to hear,-a song of thanks and praise, Sung by the patriarch for his ransom'd son. Hope from the omen springs: O blessed hope! It may not be her voice!-Fain would he think "Twas not his daughter's voice that still approach'd, Blent with the timbrel's note. Forth from the
DEEP was the furrow in the royal brow, When David's hand, lightly as vernal gales Rippling the brook of Kedron, skimm'd the lyre: He sung of Jacob's youngest born,-the child Of his old age,-sold to the Ishmaelite; His exaltation to the second power
In Pharaoh's realm; his brethren thither sent; Suppliant they stood before his face, well known, Unknowing,-till Joseph fell upon the neck Of Benjamin, his mother's son, and wept. Unconsciously the warlike shepherd paused; But when he saw, down the yet quivering string, The tear-drop trembling glide, abash'd, he check'd, Indignant at himself, the bursting flood, And, with a sweep impetuous, struck the chords: From side to side his hands transversely glance, Like lightning 'thwart a stormy sea; his voice Arises 'mid the clang, and straightway calms Th' harmonious tempest, to a solemn swell Majestical, triumphant; for he sings Of Arad's mighty host by Israel's arm Subdued; of Israel through the desert led He sings; of him who was their leader, call'd By God himself, from keeping Jethro's flock, To be a ruler o'er the chosen race.
Kindles the eye of Saul; his arm is poised;- Harmless the javelin quivers in the wall.
ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS. SORE was the famine throughout all the bounds Of Israel, when Elijah, by command Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook. No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale; The withering herbage dies; among the palms The shrivell'd leaves send to the summer gale An autumn rustle; no sweet songster's lay Is warbled from the branches; scarce is heard The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around, And trusts in God, and lays his silver'd head Upon the flowerless bank; serene he sleeps, Nor wakes till dawning: then with hands en
And heavenward face, and eye-lids closed, he prays To Him who manna on the desert shower'd, To Him who from the rock made fountains gush: Entranced the man of God remains: till roused By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart, He sees the ravens fearless by his side Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.
THE BIRTH OF JESUS ANNOUNCED. DEEP was the midnight silence in the fields Of Bethlehem; hush'd the folds; save that at times Was heard the lamb's faint bleat: the shepherds, stretch'd
On the green sward, survey'd the starry vault.
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