To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.---When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,-
Comes a still voice-yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist
Thy image. Earth that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolv'd to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrend'ring up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to th' insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone-nor could'st thou wish
Couch more magnificent: Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings-
The powerful of the earth---the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,---the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between
The venerable woods---rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green-and, poured round all
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe, are but an handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.---Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings-yet, the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep-the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest-and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living-and no friend
Take note of thy departure! All that breathe
Will share thy destiny: the gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee; as the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goe;
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bow'd with age, the infant in the smiles,
And beauty of its innocent age cut off-
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustain'd and sooth'd
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. BRYANT.
Oh! show me where is He,
The high and holy One,
To whom thou bend'st the knee,
And pray'st, "Thy will be done!”
I hear thy voice of praise,
And, lo! no form is near;
Thine eyes I see thee raise,
But where doth God appear?
Oh! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine, That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine.
Gaze on that arch above
The glittering vault admire !
Who taught those orbs to move?
Who lit their ceaseless fire?
Who guides the moon, to run
In silence through the skies?
Who bids that dawning sun
In strength and beauty rise?
There view immensity !—behold, my God is there—
The sun,
the moon, the stars, his majesty declare!
See, where the mountains rise;
Where thundering torrents foam ;
Where, veil'd in lowering skies,
The Eagle makes his home!
Where savage nature dwells,
My God is present too-
Through all her wildest dells
His footsteps I pursue :
He rear'd those giant cliffs-supplies that dashing stream-
Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream.
Look on that world of waves,
Where finny nations glide;
Within whose deep, dark caves
The ocean-monsters hide!
His power is sovereign there,
To raise to quell the storm;
The depths his bounty share,
Where sport the scaly swarm:
Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice,
Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice.
Nor eye nor thought can soar
Where moves not he in might;-
He swells the thunder's roar,
He spreads the wings of night.
Oh! praise the works divine!
Bow down thy soul in prayer;
Nor ask for other sign
That God is every where
The viewless spirit he-immortal, holy, bless'd—
Oh! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest!
TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
I am thy friend-Oh! think on this,
But not whilst millions court thee;
Whilst sparkles high the cup of bliss,
And powerful ones support thee.
May no harsh thought of me intrude,
When soft allurements woo thee;
To darken with a shade so rude,
The phantoms which pursue thee!
A thousand heads around thee bow--
A thousand welcomes meet thee,-
A thousand smiles salute thee now-
And countless friendships greet thee,-
The flush of health is on thy cheek,
The hopes of manhood fire thee,
And through thy orbs of lightning, break
The high thoughts that inspire thee.
The meed of genius decks thy brow
And Fame's loud trumpets laud thee,
Thy youthful pulse beats high, for thou
Behold'st a world applaud thee.
But wert thou sick, or sad, or lorn,
Would that gay world befriend thee?
Ah! no; 'twould turn in silent scorn,
Should fate's dark clouds attend thee!
But I will stand like a rock in the sea
Whilst the tempest sweeps above thee;
And thy tristful heart as it clings to me,
Shall feel how much I love thee.
There's not on this cold selfish earth,
A breast where love is brighter :
That trembling flower of heavenly birth
No lily of earth is whiter.
More dear those liquid orbs of thine,
Than other's smiles of gladness;
The paleness of thy brow divine
More heavenly in its sadness.
I am thy friend! Oh! turn to me
When sorrow's mists o'ertake thee,
When ills of earth encompass thee
And heartless ones forsake thee.
The avenger of Jacob came down from on high,
And his countenance blazed on the far troubled sky,
And the boldest and bravest stood pale and aghast,
As he dreadfully rode on the pestilent blast.
And wide was the stroke-to each unsprinkled door
His death gleaming meteor, the fierce cherub bore;
Not a house could escape the fell swoop of his sword,
From the cot of the slave to the dome of the lord.
Then burst the wild death-cry and shriek of affright,
All flood-like and dire on the silence of night;
And the loud mingling clangour of curses and cries,
On the wings of the tempest roll'd up to the skies.
Then rose the deep sob of heart-bursting with grief,
And the wild laugh of madness that mocks at relief,
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