And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame,
From the void abyss, by myriads came,
In the joy of youth, as they darted away,
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung,
And this was the song the bright ones sung:
Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,
The fair blue fields that before us lie:
Each sun with the worlds that round us roll,
Each planet poised on her turning pole,
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light,
For the source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides,
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides;
Lo, yonder the living splendours play!
Away! on our joyous path away!
THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.
SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies,
To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow, on life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay
Memorials prompt and true.
Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crowned the sunshine hours
Of happy wanderers there.
Fallen all beside the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In reason's world what storms are rife,
What passions rage and glare!
Ye fearless in your nests abide→
Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise,
Your silent lessons, undescried
By all but lowly eyes:
For ye could draw the admiring gaze
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys;
Your order wild, your fragrant maze,
He taught us how to prize.
Alas! of thousand bosoms kind
That daily court you and caress,
How few the happy secret find
Of your calm loveliness!
"Live for to-day; to-morrow's light
To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight,
Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
And heaven thy morn will bless."
'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze:
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
In darkness and in weariness,
The traveller on his way must press;
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whistling away the lonesome hour.
Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if thou be near:
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
When round thy wondrous works below,
My searching rapture's glance I throw,
Tracing out wisdom, power, and love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove;
Or, by the light thy words disclose,
Watch time's full river as it flows,
Scanning thy gracious providence,
Where not too deep tor mortal sense;
When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I thee discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep,
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
my last thought, how sweet to rest For ever on my Saviour's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.
If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night,
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
Come near, and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
YE musical hounds of the fairy king,
Who hunt for the golden dew,
Who track for your game the green coverts of spring, Till the echoes, that lurk in the flower-bells, ring
With the peal of your elfin crew!
How joyous your life, if its pleasures ye knew,
Singing ever from bloom to bloom!
Ye wander the summer year's paradise through,
The souls of the flowers are the viands for you,
And the air that you breathe, perfume.
But unenvied your joys, while the richest you miss,
And before you no brighter life lies:
Who would part with his cares for enjoyment like this, When the tears that embitter the pure spirit's bliss May be pearls in the crown of the skies!
THE foot of music is on the waters,
Hark! how fairily, sweetly it treads,
As in the dance of Orestes' daughters,
Now it advances, and now recedes.
Now it lingers among the billows,
Where some one, fonder than the rest,
Clasps the rover in passing, and pillows
Her softly upon its heaving breast.
Oft she flies, and her steps, though light,
Make the green waves all tremble beneath her,
Now the quick ear cannot follow her flight,
And the flood is unstirred as the calm blue ether.
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