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■O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks /tf A various language; for his gayer hours >l She has a voice of gladness and a smile And eloquence of beauty; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour comes like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart— Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around— Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— Comes a still voice: Yet a few days and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all bis course; nor yet in the cold ground. Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements— To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone; nor could'st thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun: the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks,
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
William Cullen Bryant.
"I remember, I remember
I remember, I remember I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white. The fir-trees dark and high;
The violets, and the lily-cups. I used to think their slender tops
Those flowers made of light! Were close against the sky.
The lilacs, where the robin built, It was a childish ignorance,
And where my brother set But now 'tis little joy
The laburnum on his birthday,— To know I'm farther off from heaven
The tree is living yet! Thau when I was a boy.
IERE appears to exist a greater desire to live long than to live well. Measure by man's desires. he cannot live long enough; measure by his good deeds. and he has not lived long enough; measure by his evil deeds, and he has lived too long.
/"^fjO, child of sorrow, to the lonely wood. iplH And company with trees, and rocks and hills, vYf With creeping vines, with flow'rs, and gentle W rills.
That seem themselves to feel the musing mood, And feed with thought the charming solitude. There is a spirit in the groves that fills The heart with such an influence as steals The outward sense, and leaves the soul imbued With pow'r to hold communion with the dead; And ministering angels here may tell Some happy story of the spirit home: Somelov'd one gone, for whom the heart has hied, May whisper thoughts the sad unrest to quell. And point to realms of joy and bid thee come.
Death in Life! O grave where grim Despair Hath buried hope, and ev'ry pleasing dream Of what the years may bring! The fitful gleam Of light that lingers yet, hut points me where A glory might have been; and shapes of fear Look through the gloom, till my surroundings seem The work of some malignant thing, supreme O'er all my pow'rs to plan, to strive, to bear. Ere yet high noon of days, bereft of strength To toil for those committed to my hand, And doomed to see no more a smiling sun, I find that all is bitterness at length. Yet. God hath care of us; here let me stand. And say, with steadfast heart. "His will be done."
Ed. Porteu Thompson.