98 THE DYING RAVEN. I needs must mourn for thee. For I-who have No fields, nor gather into garners-I Bear thee both thanks and love, not fear nor hate. And now, farewell! The falling leaves, ere long, Like armour of steeled knight of Palestine, Who scoffs these sympathies, Makes mock of the divinity within; Nor feels he gently breathing through his soul, The universal spirit.—Hear it cry, "How does thy pride abase thee, man, vain man! How deaden thee to universal love, And joy of kindred with all humble things— And surely it is so. He who the lily clothes in simple glory, In signs mysterious, written what alone Our hearts may read.-Death bring thee rest, poor bird. HYMN OF NATURE. BY W. 0. B. PEABODY. GOD of the earth's extended plains! The dark green fields contented lie: The mountains rise like holy towers, Where man might commune with the sky: The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, With joyous music in their flow. God of the dark and heavy deep! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale GOD of the forest's solemn shade! 100 HYMN OF NATURE. That wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to thee; When, side by side, their ranks they form, GOD of the light and viewless air! The fierce and wintry tempests blow; GOD of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs GOD of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright HYMN OF NATURE. 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 Her crumbling altars must decay Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes The beauty of the world below. 101 |