When the sun in his glory is beaming on high, When the moon and stars are lighting the sky, Our souls shall be breathed in praise and prayer, So Thou wilt make thy kingdom there! Thy kingdom come! there is one we know, Where are peace and rest and holiest bliss; We are waiting for Thee-take us speedily home: Thy kingdom come!-oh, thy kingdom come! THE LEAVES. Mysterious whisperings, And sounds, like half-heard voices, dwell amongst them." I love the leaves! who doth not love Those children of the Spring, When first appears on the 'wakening grove, Their soft green covering; When on the bare old bough they come, And shew their folded buds, And send a freshening, wild perfume Through the forest solitudes. I love to sit, at sultry noon, Within their dim green shade; And I love them when the quiet moon And I love to list to the lulling tune By the summer breezes played, In the deep stilly nights of June, From the wind and the thick leaves made. They are beautiful when past away Is their fresh brilliancy; And the first traces of decay, Proclaim their end is nigh: When all the blossoms are no more, They catch their tints again, And mock the rose that bloomed before, With many a crimson stain. Oh, when the setting sun casts down Its light on such a scene, And tints the woods of fading brown, And mingled ivy's green; It is so fair that we forget Its beauty but deceives, And think, almost without regret, On Summer's withering leaves! They are dearer still, when one by one, There is a lesson of deep tone In them, that speaks to all; They are like the hopes to our spirits shown Through all, from first to last, That in all changes still cling on, Till life itself be past. |