SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan song Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. THE NATIVE LAND. Hear, Shepherd!-Thou who for thy flock art dying, Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. O, wait!-to thee my weary soul is crying, Wait for me!-Yet why ask it when I see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting still for me! TO-MORROW. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care, And Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried, "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow." THE NATIVE LAND. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high, Bright with a glory that shall never fade! Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, THE IMAGE of god. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer's eye. Awake to see How soon this life is past and gone, Swiftly our pleasures glide away, Our hearts recall the distant day With many sighs; The moments that are speeding fast We heed not, but the past, the past, More highly prize. Onward its course the present keeps, And, did we judge of time aright, Let no one fondly dream again, Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale that's told, Our lives are rivers, gliding free Thither all earthly pomp and boast Thither the mighty torrents stray, There all are equal. Side by side |