What then art thou, O child of clay!
Amid creation's grandeur, say?
E'en as an insect on the breeze,
E'en as a dewdrop, lost in seas!
Yet fear thou not! The sovereign hand
Which spread the ocean and the land,
And hung the rolling spheres in air,
Hath, e'en for thee, a Father's care!
Be thou at peace! The all-seeing Eye,
Pervading earth, and air, and sky—
The searching glance which none may flee,
Is still in mercy turn'd on thee.
They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great 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
A wanderer on the deep,
Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.
For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.
Go! ask him of the whirlpool's roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rush'd along the shore
An army's chariot-wheels;
Of icebergs, floating o'er the main,
Or fix'd upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,
Mid the bright realms of frost;
Of coral rocks from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,
And, fraught with peril, daily grow,
Form'd by an insect's
Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o'er the tides afar,
And make the expanse of ocean bright,
As heaven with many a star.
O God! thy name they well may praise
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways
Where rocks and billows frown!
If glorious be that awful deep
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bid'st it keep
Within its bounds confined!
Let heaven and earth in praise unite!
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can rouse the tempest's might,
Or still the raging sea!
DEEP, fiery clouds o'ercast the sky,
Dead stillness reigns in air;
There is not e'en a breeze, on high
The gossamer to bear.
The woods are hush'd, the waves at rest,
The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting on its shadowy breast
Each form of rock and hill.
The lime-leaf waves not in the grove,
The rose-tree in the bower;
The birds have ceased their songs
Awed by the threatening hour.
'Tis noon;-yet nature's calm profound
Seems as at midnight deep;
But hark! what peal of awful sound
Breaks on creation's sleep?
The thunder-burst !—its rolling might
Seems the firm hills to shake;
And in terrific splendour bright
The gather'd lightnings break.
Yet fear not, shrink not thou, my child!
Though by the bolt's descent
Were the tall cliffs in ruins piled,
And the wide forests rent.
Doth not thy God behold thee still,
With all-surveying eye?
Doth not his power all nature fill,
Around, beneath, on high?
Know, hadst thou eagle-pinions free,
To track the realms of air,
Thou couldst not reach a spot, where He
Would not be with thee there!
In the wide city's peopled towers,
On the vast ocean's plains,
Midst the deep woodland's loneliest bowers,
Alike the Almighty reigns!
Then fear not, though the angry sky
A thousand darts should cast;
Why should we tremble, e'en to die,
And be with Him at last?
"Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings; and not one of them is forgotten before God?"— ST LUKE, xii. 6.
TRIBES of the air! whose favour'd race May wander through the realms of space, Free guests of earth and sky;
In form, in plumage, and in song,
What gifts of nature mark your throng
With bright variety!
Nor differ less your forms, your flight,
Your dwellings hid from hostile sight,
And the wild haunts ye love;
Birds of the gentle beak !* how dear
Your wood-note to the wanderer's ear,
In shadowy vale or grove!
Far other scenes, remote, sublime,
Where swain or hunter may not climb,
The mountain-eagle seeks;
Alone he reigns a monarch there,
Scarce will the chamois' footstep dare
Ascend his Alpine peaks.
Others there are that make their home
Where the white billows roar and foam
Around the o'erhanging rock;
Fearless they skim the angry wave,
Or, shelter'd in their sea-beat cave,
The tempest's fury mock.
Where Afric's burning realm expands,
The ostrich haunts the desert sands,
Parch'd by the blaze of day;
The swan, where northern rivers glide,
Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide
Floats graceful on her way.
The condor, where the Andes tower,
Spreads his broad wing of pride and power,
* The Italians call all singing-birds, birds of the gentle beak.
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