COME TO ME, DREAMS OF HEA EN. COME to me, dreams of heaven! My fainting spirit bear On your bright wings, by morning given, Up to celestial air. Away, far, far away, From bowers by tempests riven, Fold me in blue, still, cloudless day, O blessed dreams of heaven! Come but for one brief hour, Sweet dreams! and yet again, O'er burning thought and memory shower Your soft effacing rain! Waft me where gales divine, With dark clouds ne'er have striven, Where living founts for ever shine O blessed dreams of heaven! THE ANGELS' CALL. "Hark! they whisper! angels say, COME to the land of peace! Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, Fear hath no dwelling there! Come to the mingling of repose and love, Come to the bright and blest And crowned for ever!-'midst that shining band, Gathered to Heaven's own wreath from every land, Thy spirit shall find rest! Thou hast been long alone: Come to thy mother!-on the sabbath shore, The heart that rocked thy childhood back once more Shall take its wearied one. THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. "And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the wars of Marah, for they were bitter. "And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall e drink? "And he cried unto the Lord; and the Lord showed him a tree, hich when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made veet."-Exod. xv. 23-25. WHERE is the tree the prophet threw Into the bitter wave? Left it no scion where it grew, The thirsting soul to save ? Hath nature lost the hidden power Is there no distant eastern bower, Nay, wherefore ask?-since gifts are ours, Earth's many-troubled founts with showers THINGS THAT CHANGE. KNOWEST thou that seas are sweeping Where cities once have been? When the calm wave is sleeping, Their towers may yet be seen; Far down below the glassy tide Man's dwelling's where his voice hath died! Knowest thou that flocks are feeding Above the tombs of old, Which kings, their armies leading, Have lingered to behold? A short, smooth greensward o'er them spread Knowest thou that now the token With glass and wall-flowers crowned ? Of ages passed away, And the mournful wrecks that glory But thou hast yet a tale to learn Thy pensive eye but ranges O'er ruined fane and hall, Oh! the deep soul has changes More sorrowful than all. Talk not, while these before thee throng See scorn-where love has perished; All tender thoughts and true! Go, sound its depths in doubt and fear! THE POETRY OF THE PSALMS. NOBLY thy song, O minstrel! rushed to meet The Eternal on the pathway of the blast, With darkness round him, as a mantle, cast, And cherubim to waft his flying seat. Amidst the hills, that smoked beneath his feet, With trumpet voice thy spirit called aloud, And bade the trembling rocks his name repeat, And the bent cedars and the barsting cloud, But far more gloriously to earth made known By that high strain, than by the thunder's tone, Than flashing torrents or the ocean's roll; Jehovah spoke through the inbreathing fire, Nature's vast realms for ever to inspire With the deep worship of a living soul. THE SABBATH. How many blessed groups this hour are bending Through England's primrose meadow paths their way Toward spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day. The halls, from old heroic ages gray, Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Like a free vernal stream. I may not tread With them those pathways-to the feverish bed Of sickness bound; yet, oh, my God! I bless Thy mercy, that with sabbath peace hath filled My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness. THE VOICE OF GOD. "I heard thy voice in the garden and I was afraid." AMIDST the thrilling leaves, thy voice, A: evening's fall, drew near; Did not his heart within him burn, Therefore, 'midst holy stream and bower, And called the cedars in that hour, To veil his conscious head. Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow, Grant me, my God, thy voice to know, And calmly, brightly, that pure life No cloud it knew, no parting strife, He bowed him not, like all beside, So let us walk!-the night must come We through the darkness must go home Which without death he trod; A PRAYER. FATHER in Heaven! from whom the simplest flower With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse To wake one tear of purifying flow, To soften one wrung heart for thee and thine; Se shall the life breathed through the lowly strain, Be as the meek wild-flowers-if transient, yet not vain. THE ROD OF AARON. WAS it the sigh of the southern gale Was it the sunshine that woke its flowers Oh, far and deep, and through hidden bowers No! from the breeze and the living light But it felt in the stillness a secret might, And all such things as are good and fair, PRAYER CONTINUED. "What in me is dark Llumine: what is low raise and support."-Milton. FAR are the wings of intellect astray, That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat; They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat Still on their plumes; O source of mental day! Chase from before my spirit's track the array Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care In troubled hosts that cross the purer air, And veil the opening of the starry way, Which brightens on to thee! Oh! guide thou right My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight, The eternal springs of beauty to discern, Welling beside thy throne; unsea' mine ear, Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn. HE WALKED WITH GOD. He walked with God, in holy joy, The deep glad spirit of the boy To love and reverence grew. Whether, each nightly star to count The ancient hills he trod, Or sought the flowers by stream and fountAlike he walked with God. The graver noon of manhood came, A shepherd-king on eastern plains- A PRAYER. WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF NINE OH! God, my Father and my Friend, THE OCEAN. "They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in gre waters, these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep."-Psalm cvii. 23, 24. He that in venturous barks hath been For many a fair majestic sight Go! ask him of the whirlpool's roar, Of icebergs, floating o'er the main, Of coral rocks from waves below Of sea-fires, which at dead of night Oh God! thy name they well may praise, If glorious be that awful deep, No human power can bind, What then art Thou, who bidst it keep Let heaven and earth in praise unite, Whose word can rouse the tempest's might, THE TRUMPET. THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land, -A hundred hills have seen the brand A hundred banners to the breeze And hark!-was that the sound of seas ? The chief is arming in his hall, The peasant by his hearth; The mourner hears the thrilling call, Looks with a boding eye- The bard hath ceased his song, and bound And all this haste, and change, and fear, How will it be when kingdoms hear THE STARS. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth as handy work."—Psalm xix. 1. No cloud obscures the summer sky, Child of the earth! oh! lif thy glance Doth it not speak to every sense Count o'er those lamps of quenchless light, Mark well each little star, whose rays What then art thou, oh! child of clay! Yet fear thou not !-the sovereign hand, DIRGE OF A CHILD. No bitter tears for thee be shed, Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power That never felt a storm! The sunbeam's smile, the zephyr's breath, All that it knew from birth to death. Thou wert so like a form of light, That Heaven benignly called thee hence, Oh! hadst thou still on earth remained, We rear no marble o'er thy tomb, No sculptured image there shall mourn; Ah! fitter far the vernal bloom Such dwelling to adorn. Fragrance, and flowers, and dews, must be Thy grave shall be a blessed shrine, And oft, upon the midnight air, Shall viewless harps be murmuring there. And oh! sometimes in visions blest, And bear from thine own world of rest, What form more lovely could be given THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the heavy night hung dark When a band of exiles moored their bark Net as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted came, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean-eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, There were men with hoary hair, There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstained what there they found. Freedom to worship God! THE HEBREW MOTHER. THE rose was rich in bloom on Sharon's plain, Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reached, Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm And silver cords again to earth have won me; "How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing By every place of flowers my course delaying "And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath paried Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned from its door away? While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, “Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me, Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me, "And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, "What have I said, my child! Will He not hear thee, And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee, “I give thee to thy God—the God that gave thee, And precious, as thou art, And thou shalt be his child "Therefore, farewell! I go, my soul may fail me, As the hart panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks— But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me; Thou in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, The Rock of Strength. Farewell!" SPANISH EVENING HYMN. AVE! now let prayer and music From the wide and restless waters Hear the sailor's hymn arise! Yet, when thus full hearts find voices Touch them, every fount unsealing, DEATH OF AN INFANT. DEATH found strange beauty on that cherub brow, And dashed it out. There was a teint of rose On cheek and Jip-he touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded; forth from those blue eyes There spoke a wishful tenderness-a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound The silken fringes of their curtaining lids For ever; there had been a murmuring sound, With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler se! His seal of silence. But there beamed a smile So fixed and holy from that marble browDeath gazed, and left it there; he dared not steal The signet-ring of Heaven. THE HEBREW MELODIES OF LORD BYRON. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. One shade the more, one ray the less, Or softly lightens o'er her face: How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, The smiles that win, the teints that glow, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. HE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. THE harp the monarch minstrel swept, The king of men, the loved of Heaven, O'er tones her heart of hearts had given. It softened men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold, That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne. It told the triumphs of our king, It made our gladdened valleys ring, The cedars bow, the mountains nod; Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can not remove. IF THAT HIGH WORLD. Ir that high world, which lies beyond The eye the same, except in tears- It must be so: 'tis not for self To hold each heart the heart that shares, O WEEP for those that wept by Babel's stream, And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, ON JORDAN'S BANKS. On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, Yet there even there-O God! thy thunders seep. There--where thy finger scorched the tablet stone! O! in the lightning let thy glance appear! Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear; How long by tyrants shall thy land be troa? How long thy temple worshipless, O God? |