Eifts. THE GLORY OF NATURE. F only once the chariot of the morn But once the unimaginable Sun Flash'd godlike thro' perennial clouds forlorn, And shown us Beauty for a moment born; If only once blind eyes had seen the Spring, The waters dance, the woodlands laugh and sing; If only once deaf ears had heard the joy Of the wild birds, or morning breezes blowing, Or the deep-voicèd rivers rolling by; Then Night eternal fallen from the sky; If only once weird Time had rent asunder The curtain of the Clouds, and shown us Night Those stairs whose steps are worlds, above and under The Lightnings lit the Earthquake on his way; Ah! sure the heart of Man, too strongly tried But He, though heir of Immortality, With mortal dust too feeble for the sight, Draws thro' a veil God's overwhelming light; Use arms the Soul-anon there moveth by A more majestic Angel-and we die! FREDERICK TENNYSON. THE INNER VISION. MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes Το pace the ground, if path there be or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. WORDSWORTH. EACH AND ALL. I THOUGHT the sparrow's note from heaven, I brought him home in his nest at even ;— The delicate shells lay on the shore; I wiped away the weeds and foam, And fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar. Then I said "I covet Truth; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat, I leave it behind with the games of youth. ' As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, I inhaled the violet's breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; Full of light and deity. Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; I yielded myself to the perfect whole. R. W. EMERSON. MAN. My God, I heard this day That none doth build a stately habitation What house more stately hath there been, And more. For Man is ev'ry thing, He is a tree, yet bears no fruit ; Parrots |