ON A NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS. BY THE LATE MRS. HENRY TIGHE. THESE moments stolen from sleeping hours, For, ah! before to-morrow's dawn, Thoughts, while I gaze, crowd on so fast, I seize my pen in eager haste, Lest they should perish too; Instruction to attentive hearts, Our God by various means imparts— Why so much beauty lavish'd here, Well pleased, parental goodness gives To all that on his bounty lives, The means of pure delight. In strength, and beauty, man appears We look, and lo, he's gone; He sinks untimely to the grave, Nor friends, nor riches, then can save, Nor birth, nor high renown. And is it thus with life I cry, Thus do my short-lived pleasures die, And dream I still of bliss below, The soul with anguish sting? Thus have I seen the faithful friend, O'er some lov'd object fondly bend, And watch the slow decay, Exert in vain the healing art, Then with a hopeless broken heart, Resign to death its prey. Come, ye fair flowers of human race, Come, learn th' unheeded truth; For you these glories are displayed, 'Tis thus ye blossom, thus ye fade, E'en in the bud of youth. Give me those joys that perish not, The gifts of earth enthrall: Thy gracious presence, Lord, impart, 'Tis wisdom's voice-I hear her say, To young and old, Seek God, this day: To-morrow is not yours. The sacred pages all declare, Redeeming mercy, sought by prayer, But see, these streaks of orient light, And coming day foretell. The faded flower no longer blows, Its stamens droop, its petals close- THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. BY ROBERT BELL. THERE's a spirit in the forest speaking, From the lovely trees and the fairy flowers→→→ There's a spirit through the white foam breaking, Through the babbling brook and the hidden bowers.. It is the spirit of life, pervading The waters that moan and the leaves that stir : That spirit shall live in bloom unfading, And unconscious lips shall breathe balm on her. List to the tones of the tangled river, As it falls through the twisted boughs and reeds; Oh! its lulling notes shall last for ever, Whether it glideth through mountains or meads! List to the giant tree's incantation, As it sweeps its majestic voice along- Heard'st thou the silver echo, at even, Of the wild harebells, as their silken nets Caught the last breath that, wafting from heaven, Came floating to sleep in their minarets? Heard'st thou the sigh of the sad, sweet blosom, There's a harmony every where breathing, The humming of numberless speechless things; "Tis the lovely stems their green folds wreathing— From their delicate tendrils music springs. Oh! the Spirit of Nature is sleeping In these deep dells, and the voices we hear Are the hum of flowers their vigil keeping, And the watch-song of caves and fountains near. |