Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Thus hope, meek star, through death's still night Looks on the christian's grave.

Monarch of heaven, Eternal One,

On thee our spirit calls;

To thee, as followers of thy Son,
We consecrate these walls.

These arches, springing to the sky;
This lightly swelling dome,
That lifts to heaven its starry eye,—
Be these, O God, thy home.

And wilt thou, Omnipresent, deign
Within these walls to dwell?
Then shalt thou hear our holiest strain,
Our organ's proudest swell.

Devotion's eye shall drink the light
That richly gushes through
Our simple dome of spotless white,
From thine, of cloudless blue.

And faith, and penitence, and love,
And gratitude, shall blend
To thee:-O hear them from above,
Our Father and our friend.

THE DAISY.-J. M. GOOD.

Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep
Need we to tell a God is here,
The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep,
Tells of the hand in lines as clear.

What power but His who arched the skies,
And poured the day-spring's purple flood,
Wondrous alike in all it tries,

Could raise the daisy's curious bud:

Mold its green cup-its wiry stem;
Its fringed border nicely spin,

And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That set in silver gleams within;

And fling it with a hand so free,

O'er hill and dale and desert sod,
That man, where e'er he walks, may see
In every step the stamp of God?

DIDACTIC POETRY.

TRUTH.-COWPER.

All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades
Like the fair flower disheveled in the wind;
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
Nothing is proof against the general curse
Of vanity, that seizes all below.
The only amaranthine flower on earth
Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth.
But what is truth? "T was Pilate's question put
To Truth itself, that deigned him no reply.
And wherefore? will not God impart his light
To them that ask it?-Freely-'tis his joy,
His glory, and his nature to impart.
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,
Or negligent enquirer, not a spark.

What's that, which brings contempt upon a book,
And him who writes it, though the style be neat,
The method clear, and argument exact?
That makes a minister in holy things
The joy of many, and the dread of more;
His name a theme for praise and for reproach?—
That, while it gives us worth in God's account,
Depreciates and undoes us in our own?
What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy,

That learning is too proud to gather up ;
But which the poor, and the despised of all,
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought?
Tell me and I will tell thee what is truth.

TASTE.-AKENSIDE.

What then is taste, but these internal powers
Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
From things deformed, or disarranged, or gross
In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;
But God alone when first his active hand
Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
He, mighty parent! wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,
Reveals the charms of nature. Ask the swain
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's
Long labor, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold

The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds,
O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,

His rude expression and untutored airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold
The form of beauty smiling at his heart,

How lovely! how commanding! But though heaven.
In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labor; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to different objects; one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild;

Another sighs for harmony, and grace,

And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from its lowest bed,
Heaves its tempestuous billows to the sky;
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs,
All on the margin of some flowery stream,
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain
Resound soft-warbling all the live-long day;
Consenting zephyr sighs; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and so various are the tastes of men.

THE PASTOR'S PRAYER.-WORDSWORTH.

"Eternal Spirit! universal God! Power inaccessible to human thought,

Save by degrees and steps which Thou hast deigned To furnish; for this effluence of Thyself,

To the infirmity of mortal sense

Vouchsafed; this local transitory type

Of thy paternal splendors, and the pomp
Of those who fill thy courts in highest heaven,
The radiant Cherubim ;—accept the thanks
Which we, thy humble creatures, here convened,
Presume to offer; we, who from the breast
Of the frail earth, permitted to behold
The faint reflections only of thy face,
Are yet exalted, and in soul adore!
Such as they are who in thy presence stand
Unsullied, incorruptible, and drink
Imperishable majesty streamed forth.
From thy empyreal throne, the elect of earth
Shall be divested at the appointed hour

Of all dishonor-cleansed from mortal stain.-
Accomplish, then, their number; and conclude
Time's weary course! Or if, by thy decree,
The consummation that will come by stealth
Be yet far distant, let thy word prevail,
Oh! let thy word prevail, to take away
The sting of human nature. Spread the law,

As it is written in thy holy book,

Throughout all lands: let every nation hear
The high behest, and every heart obey;
Both for the love of purity, and hope
Which it affords to such as do thy will
And persevere in good, that they shall rise,
To have a nearer view of Thee, in heaven.
Father of good! this prayer in bounty grant,
In mercy grant it to thy wretched sons.
Then, nor till then, shall persecution cease,
And cruel wars expire. The way is marked,
The guide appointed, and the ransom paid.
Alas! the nations, who of yore received
These tidings, and in christian temples meet
The sacred truth to acknowledge, linger still;
Preferring bonds and darkness to a state
Of holy freedom, by redeeming love
Proffered to all, while yet on earth detained.

SATIRE.

REVIEWERS.--BYRON.

A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure-critics all are ready made. Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote, With just enough of learning to misquote; A mind well skilled to find or forge a fault; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet: Fear not to lie, 't will seem a lucky hit;

« AnteriorContinuar »