Till the blent life of bough, leaf, Half-drunk with perfume, veiled by radiance bright, star of music in a fiery cloud! Now I close my eyes, my ears, Or- more wonderful - within, Flash across my inward sense Thought that in me works and Life to all things living gives, By that world thou fanciedst sprung theme? - Be it thus, or be thy birth Hues more bright and forms more To thee all myself will give, rare Than reality doth wear, Losing still that I may find This bounded self in boundless mind We know when moons shall wane, Speak, then, thou voice of God When summer-birds from far shall within! Thou of the deep low tone! Answer me through life's restless din, Where is the spirit flown? And the voice answered, "Be thou still! Enough to know is given; Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil; Thine is to trust in Heaven!" THE HOUR OF DEATH. LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set,- but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, And the world calls us forth,- and oh! Death. thou art there. Thou art where friend meets friend, Lift up your hearts! - though yet no Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest, Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes; The skies, and swords beat down the Though fresh within your breasts the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all, untroubled springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread; And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Yet in those 'flute-like voices, ming oh! Death. ling low, Is woman's tenderness,-how soon her woe. Her lot is on you,- silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from affection's deep, To pour on broken reeds,-a wasted shower! [clay, And to make idols, and to find them And to bewail that worship,-therefore pray! Her lot is on you,-to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. [decay, Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer And oh! to love through all things,therefore pray! And take the thought of this calm vesper time, With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime, As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake,-oh! happy to have given The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven! |