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branch has its own favorite bird, And
songs of summer from each thicket heard;
Seems sleeping there :
While Nature's prayer
And joy to me!
They are my own
When I am resting on a mountain's bosom,
blossom. When I can trace each streamlet through the
Where blue-bell and heather
O'er wood and fell,
Of Nature's heart:
God, thou art!
They visit us
After the vanities to which we hearkened. When weariness hath come upon the spirit, Those hours of darkness which we all inherit, — Bursts there not through a glint of warm sun
In joy and sadness,
Life's angel brings
Upon its wings
The soul doth keep, -
23. A SUPPLICATION.
ILT Thou not visit me ?
dew; Each blade of grass I see, From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture
Wilt Thou not visit me ?
hill and tree
Come; for I need Thy love
Come, like Thy Holy Dove,
Yes, Thou wilt visit me :
As when, from sin set free,
HEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth,
And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Purest !
There is a temple sacred evermore, And all the Babel of life's angry voices
Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful door.
Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth:
And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord ! in thee.
Mrs. H. B. Stowe.
25. THE HEART'S PRAYER
S down in the sunless retreats of the ocean
see; So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to thee,
My God! silent to thee;
As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea; So dark when I roam, in this wintry world
shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to thee,
My God! trembling to thee;
Thomas Moore. 26. THE HYMN OF NATURE
THE heavenly spheres to thee, O God!
Attune their evening hymn:
In song of seraphim.
Unite to worship thee;
Space, time, eternity.
Nature, a temple worthy thee,
Beams with thy light and love, Whose flowers so sweetly bloom below,
Whose stars rejoice above;
That rise along the shore;
Of storm and ocean roar.
Her song of gratitude is sung
By Spring's awakening hours;
Its earliest, loveliest flowers;
In glorious luxury given;
Thy brightness back to heaven.