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Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew
Its life from alien air and earth, And told to Paynim sun and dew
The story of the Saviour's birth.
From scorching beams, in kindly mood,
The Persian plants its beauty screened ; And on its pagan sisterhood,
In love, the Christian floweret leaned.
With tears of joy the wanderer felt
The darkness of his long despair Before that hallowed symbol melt,
Which God's dear love had nurtured there.
From Nature's face, that simple flower
The lines of sin and sadness swept ; And Magian pile and Paynim bower
In peace like that of Eden slept.
Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old,
Looked holy through the sunset air ; And angel-like, the Muezzin told
From tower and mosque the hour of prayer.
With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn
From Shiraz saw the stranger part ; The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born
Still blooming in his hopeful heart !
PBOM TIE FRENCH OF LEMARTINE.
ONE hymn more, O my lyre !
Praise to the God above,
Of joy and life and love,
Oh! who the speed of bird and wind
And sunbeam's glance will lend to me, That, soaring upward, I may find
My resting place and home in Thee ? Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom,
Adoreth with a fervent flame — Mysterious spirit ! unto whom
Pertain nor sign nor name !
Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go,
Up from the cold and joyless earth, Back to the God who bade them flow,
Whose moving spirit sent them forth. But as for me, O God! for me,
The lowly creature of Thy will, Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee,
An earth-bound pilgrim still!
as note ronder stars the light divine'a
Was not my spirit born to shine
Where yonder stars and suns are glowing ? To breathe with them the light divine,
From God's own holy altar flowing ?
To be, indeed, whate'er the soul
In dreams hath thirsted for so long A portion of Heaven's glorious whole
Of loveliness and song ?
Oh! watchers of the stars at night,
Who breathe their fire, as we the air — Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light,
Oh! say, is He, the Eternal, there? Bend there around His awful throne
The seraph’s glance, the angel's knee ? Or are thy inmost depths his own,
O wild and mighty sea ?
Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go !
Swift as the eagle's glance of fire, Or arrows from the archer's bow,
To the far aim of your desire ! Thought after thought, ye thronging rise,
Like spring-doves from the startled wood, Bearing like them your sacrifice
Of music unto God !
And shall these thoughts of joy and love
Come back again no more to me? Returning like the Patriarch's dove
Wing-weary from the eternal sea, To bear within my longing arms
The promise-bough of kindlier skies, Plucked from the green, immortal palms
Which shadow Paradise ?
All-moving spirit !- freely forth
At Thy command the strong wind goes ; Its errand to the passive earth,
Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose,
Once more within the hand divine ;
Child of the sea, the mountain stream,
From its dark caverns, hurries on, Ceaseless, by night and morning's beam,
By evening's star and noontide's sun, Until at last it sinks to rest,
O’erwearied, in the waiting sea, And moans upon its mother's breast
So turns my soul to Thee !
O Thou who bidst the torrent flow,
Who lendest wings unto the wind — Mover of all things ! where art Thou?
Oh, whither shall I go to find
Is there no holy wing for me,
Of highest Heaven for Thee ?
As leaves on Autumn's whirlwind borne – The arrowy light of sunset skies,
Or sound, or ray, or star of morn Which melts in heaven at twilight's close,
Or aught which soars unchecked and free Through Earth and Heaven ; that I might lose Myself in finding Thee !
When the BREATH DIVINE is flowing,
When my upward gaze is turning
When the breaking day is flushing
When my waking fancies over
Then, O Father ! — Thou alone,
Seldom upon lips of mine