And many a storm defies;
Bright in the Orient realms of morn,
All beauty's richest hues adorn
The bird of paradise.
Some, amidst India's groves of palm,
And spicy forests breathing balm,
Weave soft their pendant nest;
Some, deep in Western wilds, display
Their fairy form and plumage gay,
In rainbow colours drest.
Others no varied song may pour,
May boast no eagle-plume to soar,
No tints of light may wear ;
Yet know, our Heavenly Father guides
The least of these, and well provides
For each, with tenderest care.
Shall He not then thy guardian be?
Will not His aid extend to thee?
Oh, safely may'st thou rest!—
Trust in His love; and e'en should pain,
Should sorrow, tempt thee to complain,
Know what He wills is best !
THE sky-lark, when the dews of morn
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,
And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars and sings.
He rests not on the leafy spray
To warble his exulting lay;
But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstasy.
Thus, my Creator! thus the more
My spirit's wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!
WHEN twilight's grey and pensive hour
Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower,
And bids the solitary star
Shine in pale beauty from afar;
When gathering shades the landscape veil, And peasants seek their village dale,
And mists from river-wave arise,
And dew in every blossom lies;
When evening's primrose opes to shed
Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;
When glow-worms in the wood-walk light
Their lamp, to cheer the traveller's sight;—
At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wanderer love
The twilight music of the grove.
Father in heaven! O thus when day
With all its cares hath pass'd away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,
And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit's offering bear—
Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.
So may Thy mercy and Thy power
Protect me through the midnight hour,
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on Thy servant's bed of rest.
WHEN the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o'er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow!
Then bursts the verdure of the plains, Then break the streams from icy chains; And the glad reindeer seeks no more Amidst deep snows his mossy store.
Then the dark pine-wood's boughs are seen
Fringed tenderly with living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland's founts and lakes arise.
Thus, in a moment, from the gloom
And the cold fetters of the tomb,
Thus shall the blest Redeemer's voice
Call forth his servants to rejoice.
For He, whose word is truth, hath said,
His power to life shall wake the dead,
And summon those he loves on high,
To" put on immortality!"
Then, all its transient sufferings o'er,
On wings of light the soul shall soar,
Exulting, to that blest abode
Where tears of sorrow never flow'd.
PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII.
"Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights."
PRAISE ye the Lord! on every height
Songs to his glory raise!
Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of night,
Join in immortal praise!
O heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling
From all thine orbs be sent !
Join in the strain, ye waters! dwelling
Above the firmament!
For His the word which gave you birth,
And majesty and might:
Praise to the Highest from the earth,
And let the deeps unite!
O fire and vapour, hail and snow!
Ye servants of His will;
O stormy winds! that only blow
His mandates to fulfil;
Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise!
Fair cedars of the wood!
Creatures of life that wing the skies,
Or track the plains for food!
Judges of nations! kings, whose hand
Waves the proud sceptre high!
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