The howling wilderness may spread More hopeless, dreary, undefined! There Sorrow, moody Discontent, Where naught but dreariness is found; A feeling that may not be told, Dark, rending, lonely, drear, and cold. The wildest ills that darken life To passion's dark and boundless sea. There sleeps no calm, there smiles no rest, In bosoms lashed by hidden woes; PART OF THE NINETEENTH PSALM. THE glittering heaven's refulgent glow, Jehovah's work and glory show, By burning day or gentle night. In silence, through the vast profound, They move their orbs of fire on high, Nor speech, nor word, nor answering sound, Is heard upon the tranquil sky; Yet to the earth's remotest bar Their burning glory, all is known; Their living light has sparkled far, And on the attentive silence shone. God, 'mid their shining legions, rears A tent where burns the radiant sun: As, like a bridegroom bright, appears The monarch, on his course begun, From end to end of azure heaven He holds his fiery path along; To all his circling heat is given, W. B. 0. PEABODY. THE late Rev. William B. O. Peabody was born at Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1799. He was educated at Cambridge, where he graduated in 1816. In 1820 he was established as a minister in the village of Springfield, Massachusetts, and resided there until his death, in 1848, discharging his professional duties, and writing much for the North American Review, and other periodicals. HYMN OF NATURE. 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; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, GOD of the forest's solemn shade! But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form, To wave on high their plumes of green, And fight their battles with the storm. GOD of the light and viewless air! Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and wintry tempests blow; All-from the evening's plaintive sigh, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry, Breathe forth the language of thy power. GOD of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs Suspended on the rainbow's rings! GoD of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright 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 Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace DEATH. LIFT high the curtain's drooping fold, So calm and pure, a sinking ray The bright, young thoughts of early days Shall gather in my memory now, And not the later cares, whose trace Is stamped so deeply on my brow. What though those days return no more? The sweet remembrance is not vain, For Heaven is waiting to restore The childhood of my soul again. Let no impatient mourner stand In hollow sadness near my bed, But let me rest upon the hand, And let me hear that gentle tread Of her, whose kindness long ago, And still, unworn away by years, Has made my weary eyelids flow With grateful and admiring tears. I go, but let no plaintive tone, The moment's grief of friendship tell; And let no proud and graven stone Say where the weary slumbers well. A few short hours, and then for heaven! Let sorrow all its tears dismiss ; For who would mourn the warning given Which calls us from a world like this? |