The landscape glowed with tropical luxuriance;
The sky was flecked with gold and crimson clouds,
That seemed to emanate from nothing there,
Born in the blue and infinite expanse,
Where just before the eye might seek in vain
An evening shadow as a daylight star.
There stood the patriarch amidst a scene
Of splendour and beatitude, himself
A diadem of glory o'er the whole;
For none but he could comprehend the beauty,
The bliss, diffused throughout the universe:
Yet holier beauty, higher bliss, he sought,
Of which that universe was but the veil,
Wrought with inexplicable hieroglyphics.
Here then he stood, alone, but not forsaken
Of Him without whose leave a sparrow falls not.
Wide open lay the Book of Deity;
The page was Providence; but none, alas!
Had taught him letters: when he looked, he wept
To feel himself forbidden to peruse it.
"Oh for a messenger of mercy now,
Like Philip when he joined the Eunuch's chariot !
Oh for the privilege to burst upon him,
And show the blind, the dead, the light of life!"
I hushed the exclamation, for he seemed
To hear it; turned his head, and looked all round,
As if an eye invisible beheld him,
A voice had spoken out of solitude:
-Yea, such an eye beheld him, such a voice
Had spoken; but they were not mine: his life
He would have yielded on the spot to see
That eye, to hear that voice, and understand it:
It was the eye of GOD, the voice of Nature.
All in a moment on his knees he fell;
And, with imploring arms outstretched to heaven,
And eyes no longer wet with hopeless tears,
But beaming forth sublime intelligence,
In words through which his heart's pulsation throbbed, And made mine tremble to their accents, prayed: "Oh! if there be a Power above all power,
A Light above all light, a Name above
All other names in heaven and earth; that Power,
That Light, that Name, I call upon!"—He paused,
Bowed his hoar head with reverence, closed his eyes,
And, with clasped hands upon his breast, began
In undertones, that rose in fervency,
Like incense kindled on a holy altar,
Till his whole soul became one tongue of fire,
Of which these words were faint and poor expressions:
"Oh! if Thou art, Thou knowest that I am:
Behold me, hear me, pity me; despise not
The prayer which—if Thou art—Thou hast inspired,
Or wherefore seek I now a GOD unknown?
And feel for Thee, if haply I may find
In whom I live, and move, and have my being?
Reveal Thyself to me; reveal Thy power,
Thy light, Thy name,-that I may fear, adore,
Obey, and, oh! that I might love Thee too!
For, if Thou art-it must be-Thou art good;
And I would be the creature of Thy goodness:
Oh! hear and answer:-let me know Thou hearest!
-Know that, as surely as Thou art, so surely
My prayer and supplication are accepted!"
He waited silently; there came no answer:
The roaring of the tide beneath, the gale
Rustling the forest leaves, the notes of birds,
And hum of insects,-these were all the sounds
That met familiarly around his ear.
He looked abroad: there shone no light from heaven
But that of sunset; and no shapes appeared
But glistening clouds, which melted through the sky
As imperceptibly as they had come;
While all terrestrial objects seemed the same
As he had ever known them;-still he looked
And listened, till a cold sick feeling sunk
Into his heart, and blighted every hope.
Anon faint accents, from the sloping lawn
Beneath the crag where he was kneeling, rose
Like supernatural echoes of his prayer:
66 A Name above all names I call upon.-
Thou art-Thou knowest that I am :-Reveal
Thyself to me;-but, oh that I may love Thee!
For if Thou art, Thou must be good:-Oh! hear,
And let me know Thou hearest!"-Memory failed
The child; for 't was his grandchild, though he knew not,-
In the deep transport of his mind, he knew not
That voice, to him the sweetest of ten thousand,
And known the best because the best beloved.
Again it cried :-"Thou art-Thou must be good:-Oh! hear,
And let me know Thou hearest.”—Memory failed
The child; but feeling failed not: tears of light
Slid down his cheek; he too was on his knees,
Clasping his little hands upon his heart,
Unconscious why, yet doing what he saw
His grandsire do, and saying what he said.
For while he gathered buds and flowers to twine
A garland for the old gray hairs, whose locks
Were lovelier in his sight than all the blooms
On which the bees and butterflies were feasting,
The patriarch's agony of spirit caught
His eye, his ear, his heart; he dropped the flowers,
And, kneeling down among them, wept and prayed
Like him, with whom he felt such strange emotions
As rapt his infant soul to heavenly heights; .
Though whence they sprang, and what they meant, he knew not:
But they were good, and that was all to him,
Who wondered why it was so sweet to weep;
Nor would he quit his humble attitude,
Nor cease repeating fragments of that lesson,
Thus learnt spontaneously from lips whose words
Were almost dearer to him than their kisses,
When on his lap the old man dandled him,
And told him simple stories of his mother.
Recovering thought, the venerable sire
Beheld, and recognized, his darling boy,
Thus beautiful and innocent, engaged
In the same worship with himself. His heart
Leaped at the sight: he flung away despondence,
While joy unspeakable and full of glory
Broke through the pagan darkness of his soul.
He ran and snatched the infant in his arms,
Embraced him passionately, wept aloud,
And cried, scarce knowing what he said, "My son!
My son! there is a GOD! there is a GOD!"—
'And, oh that I may love Thee too!" rejoined
The child, whose tongue could find no other words
Than prayer;-" for if Thou art, Thou must be good."-
"He is! He is! and we will love Him too!
Yea, and be like Him,-good, for He is good!"
Replied the ancient father in amazement.
Then wept they o'er each other, till the child
Exceeded, and the old man's heart reproved him
For lack of reverence in the excess of joy:
The ground itself seemed holy! heaven and earth
Full of the presence--felt, not seen-of Him,
The Power above all power, the Light above
All light, the Name above all other names;
Whom he had called upon, whom he had found,
Yet worshipped only as "The Unknown God,”—
That nearest step which uninstructed man
Can take from Nature up to Deity.
To Him again, standing erect, he prayed;
And, while he prayed, high in his arms he held
That dearest treasure of his heart, the child
Of his last dying daughter,-now the sole
Hope of his life, and orphan of his house.
He held him as an offering up to Heaven,
A living sacrifice unto the GOD
Whom he invoked :-" O Thou who art!" he cried,
"And hast revealed that mystery to me,
Hid from all generations of my fathers,
Or, if once known, forgotten and perverted;
I may not live to learn Thee better here;
But, oh! let this my son, mine only son,
Whom thus I dedicate to Thee,--let him,
Let him be taught Thy will, and choose
Obedience to it;-may he fear Thy power,
Walk in Thy light, now dawning out of darkness;
And, oh-my last, last prayer,-to him reveal
The unutterable secret of Thy Name!"
He paused; then with the transport of a seer
Went on:-"That Name may all my nation know;
And all that hear it worship at the sound,
When Thou shalt with a voice from heaven proclaim it!
And so it surely shall be."-
And if Thou art, Thou must be good!" exclaimed
The child, yet panting with the breath of prayer.
They ceased; then went rejoicing down the mountains, Through the cool glen, where not a sound was heard, Amidst the dark solemnity of eve,
But the loud purling of the little brook,
And the low murmur of the distant ocean.
Thence to their home beyond the hills in peace
They walked; and when they reached their humble threshold
The glittering firmament was full of stars.
He died that night; his grandchild lived to see
The patriarch's prayer and prophecy fulfilled.
Here ends my song; here ended not the vision:
I heard seven thunders uttering their voices,
And wrote what they did utter; but 't is sealed
Within the volume of my heart, where thoughts,
Unbodied yet in vocal words, await
The quickening warmth of poesy to bring
Their forms to light,-like secret characters,
Invisible till opened to the fire;
Or like the potter's paintings, colourless
Till they have passed to glory through the flames.
Changes more wonderful than those gone by,
More beautiful, transporting, and sublime,
To all the frail affections of our nature,
To all the immortal faculties of man:
Such changes did I witness; not alone
In one poor Pelican Island, nor on one
Barbarian continent, where man himself
Could scarcely soar above the Pelican:
-The world as it hath been in ages past,
The world as now it is, the world to come,
Far as the eye of prophecy can pierce,---
These I beheld, and still in memory's rolls
They have their pages and their pictures: these,
Another day, a nobler song may show.
Vain boast! another day may not be given;
This song may be my last; for I have reached
That slippery descent, whence man looks back
With melancholy joy on all he cherished,
Around with love unfeigned on all he's losing,
Forward with hope that trembles while it turns
To the dim point where all our knowledge ends.
I am but one among the living; one
Among the dead I soon shall be, and one
Among unnumbered millions yet unborn;
The sum of Adam's mortal progeny,
From Nature's birthday to her dissolution:
-Lost in infinitude, my atom-life
Seems but a sparkle of the smallest star
Amidst the scintillations of ten thousand,
Twinkling incessantly; no ray returning
To shine a second moment where it shone
Once, and no more for ever:-so I pass.
The world grows darker, lonelier, and more silent,
As I go down into the vale of years;
For the grave's shadows lengthen in advance,
And the grave's loneliness appals my spirit,
And the grave's silence sinks into my heart,
Till I forget existence in the thought
Of non-existence, buried for awhile
In the still sepulchre of my own mind,
Itself imperishable:-ah! that word,
Like the archangel's trumpet, wakes me up
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