Thou know'st too well the weight that bows the soul, And throb of keenest agony! Dear Lord,
Teach me with Thee to climb the hill of woe,
Teach me with Thee to walk the waves, nor dread
The roar of dark Eternity beneath,
For Thou hast set us on that fearful gulf,
That we may learn to lean on Thee alone.
And Thou wilt not forget my trembling soul
'Mid millions-Thou wilt dwell alone with me,
Father and Friend, as on the twinkling main
Sleep countless moons in pictur'd miniature,
Each in unbroken semblance: or the Sun
Spangles the dew-drops on each pearly blade,
Each drop reflects his perfect beam, each blade
Drinks life, as if for him alone it glow'd.
And Thou didst walk the earth, a Being of clay,
Thine heart, Thine eye, was in the Heav'n of Heav'ns,
Reading th' Eternal Mind. Day without end,
And all that dread immensity of being,
Was with Thee and about Thy path, and still
Brooding around Thee, not like Sabbath robes,
And Sabbath thoughts, but as the noonday Sun,
"An ever-during presence not put by."
Familiar as the o'er-arching vault of Heav'n,
And like the day about Thy paths, wherein
Was seen the nothingness of earthly toys,
While we in misty twilight fain would fling
Magnificence around them. Oh, no more
Let me forsake Thine unseen guiding hand!
Oh, lead me to Thy sweet and peaceful home,
Beside the streams of comfort,
That I no more with seven worse spirits turn
To the world's wilderness! Spirit of Peace,
Long, lost-long fled-where have I strayed from
Thee,
Fountain of healthful thoughts and gentle hope,
Where have I strayed from Thee? when, if awhile
There came upon my soul that still small voice,
Dwelling 'mid Nature's solitudes, it came
But like the gale upon the harp, that woke
A momentary thought, and died away.
O lead me to Thy sweet and peaceful home;
Thee have I sought amid the pathless woods,
Thee 'mid th' untrodden mountains and dark glen,
Unconscious, while I fled Thee.
Thou it was
In the calm summer noon, when Nature stood
Awfully beautiful, and from the steep
Hung listening to the solemn harmony
Of woods and waters: Thou it was, dread Power, Walking in stillness thro' the peopled scene,
'Mid calm of earth and Heaven! and Thou it was In mid-day twilight, when the torrent's voice
Hurrying his mountain multitudes from far,
Call'd to the echoing woods, and the dark Heaven, In gloom descended on the shrouded heights.
I stood amid those mountain solitudes,
On a rude plank that cross'd the torrent chasm,
Roaring eternally, till on the eye
Hung the cold tear unconscious, and I turn'd
Unworthy with those shadowy forms to blend,
Nature's unsullied children: then came on
Feelings of solemn loneliness, and thought
Amid the silence of creation's works,
Waking the echoes of the past; until
The veil of things, and this mysterious being,
And the dark world, and fall'n humanity,
Hung like a weight upon the soul; then woke
Stirrings of deep Divinity within,
And, like the flickerings of a smouldering flame,
Yearnings of an hereafter: Thou it was,
When the world's din and Passion's voice was still, Calling Thy wanderer home.
O let me rest beneath Thy palmy shade,
And trace in Thy clear fountain, calm and deep, Shadows of happier things, and the pure Heav'n; Mirror of deep tranquillity, beyond
The sweep of scorching winds and wintry cold!
Or if not to that haven of Thy rest,
Yet let Thy cheering beam, thro' the dark wild,
Fall gently on my lonely path! and, oh,
When all around is dreariness and night,
Let me not call it solitude, if Thou,
"Light of the soul, be near! and if the storms
Gather around me, and the waterfloods
Roll o'er my soul, oh, let no envious clouds
Hide from mine eyes that solitary star,
Rising in loveliness beyond the storm.
Oh, o'er the howling wilderness of waves,
Let not Faith fail to bear me up! be Thou
My guardian, Thou my guide; Thee may I see
When earth is fading from my dying eyes,
Thee may I hold with faltering hand! Awhile,
And all this strange terraqueous scene of things
Shall be but like a sick man's dream, or gleams
That came upon the dawn of infancy,
And all our tears but like the dews of night,
Lost in the presence of eternal sun.
b Tu mihi curarum requies, tu, nocte vel atrâ,
Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. Tibullus.
Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,
Te teneam moriens deficiente mauu. Ibid.
Poor murmurer, cease to fret and roar, With hurried step and ruffled breast, Thy pebbled path will soon be o'er, And thou on Ocean's bosom rest.
And what to yon vast endless home Each little rock that checks thy way, To where yon mountain billows roam, To where yon worlds of water stray?
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