104. A PSALM OF LIFE.
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream;
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real-life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal:
Dust thou art-to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle,-
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;-
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait!
"ROOм for the leper! room!" And, as he came, The cry passed on-" Room for the leper! room!" And aside they stood
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on his way, and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper, with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering,-stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!"
Of the Judean autumn, and the leaves,
Whose shadows lay so still upon
Had put their beauty forth beneath the eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble.
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip,
And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien
There was a gracious pride that every eye
Followed with benisons-and this was he!
With the soft airs of summer, there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs
The spirit to its bent, might drive away.
The blood beat not as wont within his veins ;
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth
Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his mien,
With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed-a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear silver key;
And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light
And very air were steeped in sluggishness.
He strove with it a while, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrowy jereed, like an aspen, shook.
Day after day, he lay as if asleep :
His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales,
Circled with livid purple, covered him,
-And Helon was a leper!
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blest-to die!
Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the Stranger came, and, bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name-
"Helon!" The voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
"Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before Him.
He looked on Helon earnestly a while,
As if his heart were moved, and stooping down,
He took a little water in his hand,
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipped him.
NATURE is man's best teacher. She unfolds
Her treasures to his search, unseals his eye,
Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart.
Her influence breathes in all the sights and sounds
Of her existence; she is Wisdom's self.
Rest yields she to the weary of the earth;
Its heavy-laden she endows with strength.
When sorrow presses on us, when the stings
Of bitter disappointment pierce our soul,
When our eye sickens at the sight of man,
Our ear turns loathing from his jarring voice,-
The shadowy forest and the quiet field
Are then our comforters. A medicine
Breathes in the wind that fans our fevered brow,
The blessed sunshine yields a sweet delight,
The bird's low warble thrills within our breast,
The flower is eloquent with peace and joy,
And better thoughts come o'er us. Lighter heart
And purer feelings cheer our homeward way.
We prize more deep the blessings that are ours,
And rest a higher, holier trust in God.
And when the splendid summer moonlight bathes,
Blinding the stars, night's purple sky, in rich,
Transparent splendor, brightening all below,
As though, at God's command, earth's angel-guard
Had dropped his silver mantle from his form
Upon her, to protect her helpless sleep,
Nature speaks soothing music, stealing through
Each avenue to the heart, till all is peace.
She teaches us of God,
Her Architect-her Master. At his feet
She crouches, and in offering him her praise
From myriad altars, and in myriad tones,
She bids man praise him also. In the broad
Magnificent ocean, surging in wild foam,
Yet bounded in its madness; in the fierce,
Shrieking, and howling tempest, crashing on
In desolating wrath, yet curbed with reins,-
She shows his awful power, yet tender care ·
In the wide sunlight, in the murmuring rains,
And changes of the seasons, she proclaims
His wide beneficence, exhaustless love.
FAST the white race spread,
And fast they scattered here rude clearings through
The leafy desert. The tall blockhouse rose,
Surrounded by its stooping cabin-roofs,
And belted with its pointed palisades.
The axe rung always, and the echoes woke
To the down-crashing woods.
From the wood-moss, and cattle lowed where rose
The bleating of the deer, and where the wolf
Howled to the moon. The rifle brought quick death,
In hard, strong hands, to the majestic moose
And bounding deer. The eagle stooped to it.
The darting salmon felt the barbed point
Of the torch-lighted spear; the spotted trout
Leapt at the butterfly, and found quick death.
The beaver, paddling round his ancient stream,
Felt the sharp talons of some hidden trap,
And meekly died. The otter rose to breathe,
And saw the red shot glancing from the bush-
And gasped in blood. The winter snows fell deep;
And the pale, starving Indian, lingering near
The pale-face village, sought in vain the deer,
For paths, broad-stamped around with snow-shoes, told
The white man's rifle had been there before him.
In vain he sought the drifts that choked so deep
The laurels, for the partridge or the quail;
In vain he searched the hollow tree, made mad
With hunger, for the torpid bear, to wrestle
E'en with that shaggy foeman for his flesh.
Skill and strange knowledge also had been there,
And, on the village green, with forehead bored
With the swift bullet, stood the black square frame
Of the dead monster, frozen stiff with cold.
What wonder that he clutched his tomahawk
And drew his knife, and swore, on bended knee,
By Hah-wen-né-yo, he would be revenged!
What wonder that the midnight sky blushed red!
What wonder that the settler sank in death
Beside his plough, or tinged the golden wheat
With his own blood! What wonder that the child
Saw the fierce eyeball gleaming from the thicket,
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