And thought is lost ere thought can mount so [high, Thou from primeval nothingness didst call Spring forth from Thee; of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin-all life, all beauty Thine. Thy word created all, and doth create; Thy splendour fills all space with rays Divine; Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround, [Thee! Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. A million torches, lighted by Thy hand, Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light? A glorious company of golden streams? Lamps of celestial ether burning bright? Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But Thou to those art as the noon to night! Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in Thee is lost ; What are a thousand worlds compared to Thee? And what am I, when heaven's unnumber'd host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed Thou art; directing, guiding all, Thou art! Close to the realm where angels have their birth, Just on the boundary of the spirit land! The chain of being is complete in me; I can command the lightning, and am dust! Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously Constructed and conceived!-unknown? This clod Lives surely through some higher energy; From out itself alone it could not be. Creator? yes; Thy wisdom and Thy word Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude, Its heavenly flight beyond the little sphere, O thought ineffable! O vision blest! (Though worthless our conception all of Thee) Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, And waft its homage to thy Deity. God? thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed I will obey,--not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own : On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture. 27 My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss. Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown : May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return: What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived; By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. -0 TO A WATER-FOWL.—(W. C. Bryant.) Whither, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong; As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide; There is a Power, whose care All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou 'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form. Yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, BONNY DUNDEE.-(Scott.) To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke :[to be broke; "Ere the king's crown shall fall, there are crowns So let each cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of bonny Dundee ! Come, fill up my cup; come, fill up my can ; Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men ; |