Till the blent life of bough, leaf, Half-drunk with perfume, veiled by blossom, burns; Then, then outbursts the mock-bird A clear and loud, radiance bright, star of cloud! а music in fiery Now I close my eyes, my ears, Or- — more wonderful — within, Flash across my inward sense Born of the mind's omnipotence. Soul! that all informest, say! Shall these glories pass away? Will those planets cease to blaze When these eyes no longer gaze? And the life of things be o'er When these pulses beat no more? Thought that in me works and lives, Life to all things living gives, Art thou not thyself, perchance, But the universe in trance? A reflection inly flung 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, cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain,— But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale? They have one season,—all are ours to die! Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 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 ne 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. EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. HUSH! 'tis a holy hour,--the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night,-in prayer. Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek, Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought, Gaze, yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity! 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 thei And to bewail that worship,-therefore pray! Her lot is on you,—to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed With a pale cheek, and yet a brow of pain, inspired, And a true heart of hope, though Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer hope be vain. [decay, 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! |