"The heart knoweth his own bitterness."
I stood between the dying and the dead,
The clock still told the minutes, and for spring
A housed flower prepared its blossoming;
Without were busy sounds, of gladness bred,
Creation's hum, Childhood's light voice and tread;
And heard at interval o'er muttering reel,
And muffled undersounds of thundering wheel,
The anvil musical. As torch-gleams shed
On ebony more deeply shew within
The bed of darkness, came that jocund din.
We creep 'mid creeping things and then are not ;
That heaven-born thing within, its mighty lot
Glassing in shadows, heavenward strives, and then
Bursting the gilded bubble-is forgot.
"But the righteous hath hope in his death."
His spirit hath gone forth to regions blest;
But o'er his hoary head, serenely bright,
Coldly linger'd a smile, then sunk in night.
When day hath thus on the
gone,
snowy
Of the white Alpine monarch, sun-beams rest,
Wreathing a roseate diadem of light,
Seen like some star upon the crystal height
Glorious abiding. On lake Leman's breast
Sits one in stedfast gaze, with pensive oar
Stilly suspended, till night's sabler dress
Descending, veils the solemn loveliness.
Strange hour of holy thought, when the great door
Seems half-unbarr'd, and where night's shades
Darkly disclosed gleams the eternal shore
"He hath made every thing beautiful in his time.”
How beautiful the host of darkness born,
That walk the Heavens, and golden sentry keep
Around the cloud-roof'd hall where mortals sleep!
How beautiful the veil by evening worn!
How beautiful the rosy-mantled morn!
And ether blue her crystal robes between ;
And echo in her moon-lit cave unseen,
Mocking from far the torrent's voice forlorn!
And, oh, more beautiful than shadowy light
By evening won, or morning's rosy hue,
More beautiful than echo heard at night,
The deep blue eye where spirit sits enthron'd!
As, 'tween her crystal robes, when ether blue
Appearing tells of something deep beyond.
"Whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever."
These are but gleams that from the palace break
Of Him, whose Name is Wonderful, that bring
Glad tidings, we are still beneath His wing;
In Nature's beauteous temple lurks the snake,
And darker gleams in Nature's crystal lake
Fall'n man's deformity, whose heart doth fling
O'er earth and Heav'n its dark o'ershadowing.
That torrent's voice of desolation spake,
Night's raven crew, and shades of darkness crowd
On Eve's bright skirts, Morn's mantle veils the cloud;
And wan Decay, 'neath light of beauty's eye,
In mockery sits, and builds her silent shroud.
And is this all that bids us cling to thee,
Poor widow'd wreck of fall'n humanity?
THE TARES AND THE WHEAT.
Children of Cain and Abel, blended flock !
No more, ye sons of Heav'n, ye sit alone,
A spot of sunshine o'er the mountains thrown,
'Mid a dark world. Thus where the echoes mock
The Arve's deep sounding step with rended rock,
And tawny host of waters, hurrying down
Breathless to battle: far the indignant Rhone
Bridles his horned front from the rude shock,
And deeply rolls in walls of crystal pent,
And uncommingling majesty along,
Nor from their ranks his troops of sapphire break;
But soon that watery king, his isles among,
With miry crown, and robes all rudely rent,
Sits mourning, wash'd in vain in Leman's lake.
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