THE MARTYRS OF ROYAL-LIEU.
They view the reeking scaffold nigh,
With dauntless heart, untroubled eye,
Their blood so soon must stain,-
Lift up their vesper-hymn on high,
Swan-like, resolved to sing and die!
See how she bends her to the block,
The foremost of that guiltless throng,
And sings, till 'neath the headsman's stroke,
Is stayed at once her breath and song!
Yet still the angelic strain peals on
More thrilling sweet; till, one by one,
Is hushed each tuneful tongue;
And to that sainted band 'tis given,
To join seraphic choirs in heaven!
Like Nature? Can Imagination boast
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
Or can it mix them with that matchless skill,
And lose them in each other, as appears
In every bud that blows.
THERE is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower;
On every herb o'er which we tread
Are written words which, rightly read,
Will lead us from earth's fragrant sod,
To hope, and holiness, and God!
But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes
In grains as countless as the sea-side sands,
The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with Him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In Nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,
Prompts with remembrance of a present God.
In the vast, and the minute, we see
The unambiguous footsteps of the God
Who gives its lustre to an INSECT's wing,
And wheels His throne upon the ROLLING WORLDS.
Он, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms, which Nature to her votʼry yields;
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The
pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even;
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven;
Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven.
THESE are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good,
Almighty, Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
STUDIES in Nature lead us to cherish the idea of a God, who created, who regenerates, who preserves this universe by invariable laws, and by a continued chain of similar causes, producing similar effects; who pervades all Nature with His Divine Spirit, as a universal Soul, which moves, directs, and restrains the fabric of this world. The blissful idea of a God sweetens every moment of our time, and embellishes before us the paths of life; invites us delightfully to all the beauties of Nature, and associates us with everything that lives or moves. Yes, the whisper of the gales, the murmur of waters, the peaceful agitation of trees or shrubs, would concur to engage our minds, and affect our souls with tenderness, if our thoughts were elevated to one Universal Cause, if we recognised on all sides the works of Him whom we love, if we marked the traces of His august steps and benignant intentions, if we believed ourselves actually present at the display of his boundless power, and the magnificent exertions of His unlimited goodness.
M. NEKER, in BUCKE's Harmonies and Sublimities of Nature.
EMBLEM of Him that made thee, source of light,
Heat, vegetation, beauty, and defence!
Let not the unbelieving sons of night
Scoff at our notion that Omnipotence
Cares for the meanest worm that crawls the earth.
Even as the aureate tide thou pourest forth
On all sides equally at every point,
Flooding creation with thy boundless beams.
And yet with thine own image dost anoint
Each individual daisy's head; so teems
Full on the universe through all its round
The radiant power of the Divinity;
But still with special aim is resting found Upon the lowliest of the lowly-me.
NIGHT hurrying sails away across the waters,
To seek repose in her own distant isles,
And slow retire the moon's all-radiant daughters,
But young Aurora lingers with her smiles,
From the deep dell and dark grove's heaving breast,
The misty forms that nightly slumber there,
Ascending to the mountain's snowy crest,
Expand their wings, and part into the air;
And forth from out the eastern hall,
Gilding Nature's sable pall,
The lovely light descends to deck
With dewy pearls young Morning's neck.
The lark is up in the dewy sheen;-
Oh, the little saint, with harp unseen,
Is trilling a hymn on her skyèd tower,
Whose cherub tones and airy power
Hold the ear of heav'n, that listens above
In trembling trance of silent love.
The zephyrs pass by on their downy wings,
With harps, from whose Eolian_strings
A requiem quivers adown the vale
To the moon there sitting, all sad and pale.
And o'er yon eastern fields of blue
Tall filmy shapes of amber hue
Wave their bright robes around the car
Of the slow retiring Morning Star.
Sweet looks the infant day above
Like the rich and rosy smile of love.
INVOCATION OF THE EARTH TO MORNING.
WAKE from thy azure ocean-bed,
Oh, beautiful sister, Day!
Uplift thy gem-tiaraed head,
And, in thy vestal robes arrayed,
Bid twilight's gloom give way!
Wake, dearest sister! the dark-browed night
Delayeth long her drowsy flight.
Most glorious art thou, sister Day,
Upon thy chariot throne;
While, sitting supreme in royal sway,
Thou holdest thy high effulgent way,
In majesty alone;
Till into thy cloud-pavilioned home,
In the burning west thy footsteps come.
When last thy parting look I caught,
Which turned to smile good-night,
With all a lover's fondness fraught,
There seemed not in the universe aught
So precious in thy sight
As thy own dear Earth, while to her breast
She folded her slumbering babes to rest.
I hear the sparkling midnight sphere,
Rehearse the choral hymn,
Which yet, ere earth was stained with tears,
Burst on the joy-entrancèd ears
While the lofty blue empyrean rang,
As the morning stars together sang.
Oh, many a joyous mountain rill,
And many a rustling stream,
Calm lake and glassy fountain still,
Tall
grove and silent, mist-clad hill,
Long for thy coming beam;
Uprouse thee, then, fairest sister dear!
For all are pining thy voice to hear.
With trembling and impatient wing,
My birds on every spray,
Await thy welcome forth to sing
With many a melting lay!
Then wherefore, beautiful, linger so long?
Earth sighs to greet thee with shout and song.
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