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GLORY to thee, my God, this night,
From all that dwell below the skies
Fears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
that are no more.
In looking and thinking
POEMS OF NATURE.
INVOCATION TO LIGHT.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light,
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, The winds that will be howling at all hours
Bright effluence of bright essence increate. And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, whose fountain who shall tell ? before the siin,
Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, For this, for everything, we are out of tune ;
Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, - The rising world of waters dark and deep, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Through utterand through middle darkness borne,
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend, A WIND came up out of the sea,
Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, And said, “O mists, make room for me!” And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; but thou
Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain It hailed the ships, and cried, “Sail on, To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; Ye mariners, the night is gone.”
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, And hurried landward far away,
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Crying, “Awake! it is the day.”
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, It said unto the forest, “Shout!
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Hang all your leafy banners out!”
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, And said, “O bird, awake and sing !”
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget
Those other two equalled with me in fate,
And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : “ Bow down, and hail the coming morn!”
Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird It shouted through the belfry-tower, Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid “Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark,
hark ! Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
rings; Presented with a universal blank
Through rustling corn the hare astonished Of nature's works, to me expunged and rased,
springs ; And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
JAMES BEATTIE. Of things invisible to mortal sight.
THE SABBATH MORNING.
PACK CLOUDS AWAY.
With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
That slowly wakes while all the fields are still ! Pack clouds away, and welcome day, A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; With night we banish sorrow;
A graver murmur gurgles from the rill ; Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft, And echo answers softer from the hill; To give my love good morrow.
And softer sings the linnet from the thorn : Wings from the wind to please her mind, The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Notes from the lark I 'll borrow :
Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath morn!
The sun a placid yellow lustre throws ;
The gales that lately sighed along the grove
Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose ;
The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move, Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast, So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! Sing, birds, in every furrow ;
DR. JOHN LEYDEN. And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
REVE DU MIDI.
WHEN o'er the mountain steeps
The hazy noontide creeps,
And the shrill cricket sleeps
Under the grass ;
When soft the shadows lie,
And the idle winds go by,
With the heavy scent of blossoms as they pass, –
Then, when the silent stream
Lapses as in a dream,
Up to the sun ;
Rests on its downward way,
When the moth forgets to play, The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; And the plodding ant may dream her work is The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ;
done, The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. Then, from the noise of war
And the din of earth afar, The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ;
Like some forgotten star Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid Dropt from the sky, sings;
The sounds of love and fear,