Encounter; no fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here-thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music;-thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt :-the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship;-nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak- By whose immoveable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince,
In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare
the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, h scented breath, and look so like a smile, THE gs, as it issues from the shapeless mould, leananation of the indwelling Life,
To hew the token of the upholding Love, And sprea the soul of this wide universe. The lofty va
t is awed within me, when I think
the meat miracle that still goes on, der, round me-the perpetual work acation, finished, yet renewed e. Written on thy works, I read Tale of thy own eternity.
La a grow old and die: but see, again, the faltering footsteps of decay, rever gay and beautiful youth aleautiful forms. These lofty trees
Te but less proudly than their ancestors Vader beneath them. 0, there is not lost f earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, the fight of untold centuries, The testness of her far beginning lies, A yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
This arch enemy Death-yea, seats himself
the sepulebre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe We own nourishment. For he came forth Fam thine own bosom, and shall have no end.
There have been holy men, who hid themselves Dey in the woody wilderness, and gave Tarres to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less and than the hoary trees and rocks And them;-and there have been holy men, The deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and, in thy presence, re-assure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me-the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed For ever. Written on thy works, I read The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death-yea, seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.
Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the fort Of thy fair works. But thou art here-the The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music:-thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt-the barky trunks, the grous The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Here is continual worship:-nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herk Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roo Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades. Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak- By whose immoveable stem I stand, and se Almost annihilated-not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his mus Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare broad sun. That delicate forest flower scented breath, and look so like a smile. -s, as it issues from the shapeless meait, anation of the indwelling Life, the token of the upholding Love, real the soul of this wide universe.
t is awed within me, when I think
There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them;-and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and, in thy presence, re-assure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities; who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face, Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.
To them the sailors wakeful eye is turning; Unchanged they rise, they have not mourn'd for
Caudet then be shaken from thy radiant place, Een as the dew-drop from the myrtle spray, Swept by the wind away?
We then not peopled by some glorious race, And was there power to smite them with decay?
Fly, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven? It is too sad to think on what we are,
When from its height afar,
Award sinks thus; and yon majestic beaven Sties not the less for that one vanish'd star!
AND is there glory from the heavens departed? -Oh, void unmark'd!-thy sisters of the sky Still hold their place on high,
Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started, Thou! that no more art seen of mortal eye! Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night? She wears her crown of old magnificence, Though thou art exiled thence! No desert seems to part those urns of light, 'Midst the far depths of purple gloom intense. They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning! The shepherd greets them on his mountains free, And from the silvery sea
WHAT is thy hope?-Oh! if to the earth Like the grovelling vine it clings, For shoots one aspiring tendril forth In search after higher things, In vain is it nurtur'd with ceaseless toil, Confined to the cold world's ungenial soil; Each prop that supports it must perish, and all Its buds of fair promise unopened fall- Alas! for the hopes that are nourished here Midst the storms of earth's changeful atmosphere.
Then what is thy hope? To what pitch of pride, Would thy restless ambition tower? Wouldst thou over fallen empires stride To the summit of human power?
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;-who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by! Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face, Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.
AND is there glory from the heavens departed! -Oh, void unmark'd !-thy sisters of the sky
Still hold their place on high, Though from its rank thine orb so long hath starte Thou! that no more art seen of mortal eye! Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night! -She wears her crown of old magnificence, Though thou art exiled thence! No desert seems to part those urns of light. 'Midst the far depths of purple gloom inte They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning! The shepherd greets them on his mountains And from the silvery sea
WHAT is thy hope ?-Oh! if to the earth Like the grovelling vine it clings, Nor shoots one aspiring tendril forth In search after higher things,
In vain is it nurtur'd with ceaseless toil, Confined to the cold world's ungenial soil; Each prop that supports it must perish, and all Its buds of fair promise unopened fall- Alas! for the hopes that are nourished here 'Midst the storms of earth's changeful atmosphere.
Then what is thy hope? To what pitch of pride, Would thy restless ambition tower? Wouldst thou over fallen empires stride To the summit of human power?
And send it to fut And men yet unb
But what will the
When thy form sh
dead, And thy soul to th
Then what is Is thy desti Of a soul that Though it s Oh! why are the Te narrower limit Why, when form Should we bury o And vainly seek f In a world of unce
What is thy h Of nature's Like armour Against the
Will it gladden th The horror of dar When the damps And the life-blood
Away with it else To cherish a hope
But hope tho This hope When world
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