I LOVE to rove, in pensive mood,
In Autumn eve, through the winding wood,
Just ere the hour of set of sun,
Just ere the parting day is done,
To gaze on the thousand varied dyes
That, mingling, melt in the western skies,
Blending their colours soft and bright
In all the hues of the rainbow's light,
And the clouds in floating masses roll'd,
Ting'd with purple, and green, and gold,
On which the eye delights to rest,
For they seem like sunny isles of the blest,
As they float through the sea of heaven along,
As bards have told in fabled song:
Ah! then we long for the wings of a dove,
To fly away to those isles of love,
But just as Fancy the land has made,
Like all things bright, they quickly fade,
And change their form, and melt away,
Till all is lost in the twilight grey,—
Sweet, pensive hour, so hush'd and still
That nought is heard but the tinkling rill,
And the mournful song of the evening breeze,
That, fitful, sighs thro' the trembling trees,
Singing the Autumn's funeral wail
Mid the rustling leaves all sear and pale.-
But alas! how pensively sad the scene,
Recalling thoughts that bright have been;
For who can look on the fading leaf,
Nor think of earthly joys, how brief!
Or gaze on it fallen, pale, and sear,
Nor think of those we have lov'd so dear,
By death's cold hand long wither'd and strown,
Who've left us to weep in the world alone;
But tho' so mournful Autumn's reign,
It fills the heart with a soothing pain,—
The joy of grief all calm and holy,-
The bliss of sacred melancholy.-
But O! what gives such scenes as these
This soul-felt charm, and power to please,-
Such pensive scenes of sad decay,-
The fading trees, and fleeting day
Of Autumn's close,-the dying year,-
The falling leaf, so wan and sear,-
Whilst moans the breeze's plaintive song,
That sings the rustling leaves among?
"T is that in them sad types we see
And signs of our mortality,
That win our hearts with kindred ties,
And tenderest, dearest sympathies.
But O! how blest the thought, that all
These mournful tokens of the fall,
With sorrow and mortality,
Shall soon for ever cease to be,
And earth, renew'd, in beauty rise,
A bright, immortal paradise,
And God incarnate dwell with men
Throughout the blest millennial reign!
But I must hush my tuneful song,
Nor more the pleasing theme prolong;
And thou, for whom I tune the lay,
Wilt thou, when absent,-far away,-
When Autumn holds her pensive reign,
Remember him who wakes the strain?
If so, he has not sung in vain.
IN the dark and fearful hour, When the storm begins to lower, Gathering into dreadful strife O'er the troubled sea of life, Rais'd up by the potent spell Of the demon-prince of hell,When the thunder rolls on high, And red lightnings fire the sky, And my bark is nearly lost, Driving tow'rds destruction's coast,When, beneath the furious gale, Rent and riven is every sail, And the quiv'ring, bending mast, Downward crushing, falls at last,— When the helm can steer no more, And the breakers round me roar,In this hour of doubt and dread, When all human hope has fled, Mid the terrors of the storm, May I view Faith's angel-form, And, supported by her power, Triumph in the trying hour, Pouring forth my ardent cry To the God that rules on high:
Mighty He in power to save
From the overwhelming wave,
Who hath sworn He will defend,
As our Father and our Friend,
From all dangers and alarms,
And the might of hellish charms;
Faithful is His word, and sure;
On His oath1 I rest secure ;
On this everlasting Rock,
Firm to bear the tempest's shock,
Hope's strong anchor bold I cast,
And defy the raging blast:
"Now, roll on, thou pealing thunder,
Lightnings, rend the heavens asunder,
Shake, thou earth, from pole to pole,
Shake thou never, O my soul!
Thou art safe, tho' tempest-driven,
As when moor'd in peaceful haven ;
He who loos'd the prince of hell,
All his madd'ning wrath can quell;
He who bade the tempest rage,
All its fury can assuage;
Hark! He speaks,-its terrors cease,-
Peace! be still !'-and all is peace."
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