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Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart :
Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart
O’er wave or field, yet breezes laugh to scorn Our puny speed ; and birds, and clouds in heaven,
And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main, And stars that shoot through freezing air at even,
Who but would follow, might he break his chain ? And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm
Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free
grace He won for thee, When from the
at dawn of morn, And led through boundless air thy conquering road, Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born,
Might fearless follow to their blest abode. But first, by many a stern and fiery blast,
The world's rude furnace must thy blood refineAnd many a gale of keenest wo be passed,
Till every pulse beat time to airs divine, Till every limb obey the mounting soul,
The mounting soul the call by Jesus given : He whom the stormy heart can so control,
The laggard body soon will waft to heaven.
SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
To fill the heart's fond view ?
Memorials prompt and true.
Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair, As when
crowned the sunshine hours
What passions range and glare !
Your first and perfect form ye show,
In the world's opening glow.
And as we gaze, we know.
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And come again to-morrow.
Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise,
By all but lowly eyes :
He taught us how to prize.
As when He paused and owned you good; His blessing on earth's primal bower,
Ye felt it all renewed.
What care ye now, if winter's storm
Ye fear no vexing mood.
Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,
caress, How few the happy secret find
calm loveliness !
And heaven thy morn will bless."
ADDRESS TO POETS.
Ye whose hearts are beating high
(If the word be not too bold,)
And a life that ne'er grows old —
Sovereign masters of all hearts !
who hath set your parts ?
His hosannas here below ;--
Linger not with sin and wo.
But if ye should hold your peace,
beneath our feet,
Ere His name shall be unblest.
Lord, by every minstrel tongue
Who in that divinest spell
Give us grace to listen well.
But should thankless silence seal
Noblest things find vilest using,)
In vile things noble breath infusing.
Then waken into sound divine
And untunable the parts,
If it flow from childlike hearts.
TYRE of the farther west! be thou too warned,
Whose eagle wings thine own green world o'erspread, Touching two oceans : wherefore hast thou scorned
Thy fathers' God, O proud and full of bread ?
Why lies the cross unhonored on thy ground,
While in mid-air thy stars and arrows flaunt?
Except, disrobed of thy vain earthly vaunt,
The holy seed, by Heaven's peculiar grace,
Is rooted here and there in thy dark woods ; But many a rank weed round it grows apace,
And Mammon builds beside thy mighty floods, O'ertopping nature, braving nature's God;
Oh, while thou yet hast room, fair, fruitful land,
Mark thee a place on high, a glorious stand,
Eastward, this hour, perchance thou turn'st thine ear,
Listening if haply with the surging sea, Blend sounds of ruin from a land once dear
To thee and Heaven. O trying hour for thee ! Tyre mocked when Salem fell; where now is Tyre ?
Heaven was against her. Nations thick as waves
And now the tideless water idly laves