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Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale !
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shattered and the same forever ? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? And who commanded,
and the silence came, Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?
Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet! “God!” let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo,
“ God!” “God!” sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, “God!”
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou, That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me, rise, O ever rise, Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
Handle, handld, handl'dst, handles, handlst, gladdn,
gladdns, gladd'n'd, dream, drive, didst, breadth, breadths, deeds, edge, hedg'd.
Hymn of Nature.
W. B. 0. PEABODY.
God of the earth's extended plains !
The dark, green fields, contented lie;
Where man might commune with the sky;
That lowers upon the vale below,
With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heavy deep !
The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Hath summoned up their thundering bands;
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas;
Serenely breathes, “Depart in peace!”
God of the forest's solemn shade!
The grandeur of the lonely tree,
Lifts up admiring eyes to thee;
When side by side their ranks they form,
And fight their battles with the storm.
God of the light and viewless air !
Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow, All -- from the evening's plaintive sigh,
That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry —
Breathe forth the language of thy power.
God of the fair and open sky!
How gloriously above us springs The tented done, of heavenly blue,
Suspended on the rainbow's rings ! Each brilliant star, that sparkles through,
Each gilded cloud, that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives
The beauty of its praise to thee.
God of the rolling orbs above !
Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven,
Were kindled at thy burning throne.
God of the world! the hour must come,
And nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay;
Her incense-firès shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace
The beauty of the world below.
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
Flame, flew, flown, fly, trifl'd, trifl'dst, trifles, trifl'st, sof'n,
sof'n'd, sof'ns; frame, freeze, frown, laughs, laugh'st, waft, wafts, waft'st, fifth.
Passage down the Ohio.
JAMES K. PAULDING.
As, down Ohio's ever-ebbing tide,
Where now are seen, along the river side,
'Twas evening now; the hour of toil was o'er ;