THINK not that thou and I Are here the only worshippers to-day, Beneath this glorious sky, Mid the soft airs that o'er the meadows play; The fresh grass, are our fellow-worshippers. See, as they pass, they swing The censers of a thousand flowers that bend And the sweet odors like a prayer ascend, While, passing thence, the breeze Wakes the grave anthem of the forest trees. It is as when, of yore, The Hebrew poet called the mountain-steeps, 5 10 The forests, and the shore Of ocean, and the mighty mid-sea deeps, And stormy wind, to raise A universal symphony of praise. For, lo! the hills around, Gay in their early green, give silent thanks; And, with a joyous sound, The streamlet's huddling waters kiss their banks, And, from its sunny nooks, To heaven, with grateful smiles, the valley looks. The blossomed apple-tree Among its flowery tufts, on every spray, A fragrant chapel for his native lay; And a soft bass is heard From the quick pinions of the humming-bird. Haply-for who can tell? Aërial beings, from the world unseen, Haunting the sunny dell, Or slowly floating o'er the flowery green, With harmonies too fine for mortal ear. 14. The Hebrew poet called the mountain-steeps. See Psalms, xcvi, 11, and xcviii, 7, 8. 31-36.-"For my part, I am apt to join in opinion with those who believe that all the regions of nature swarm with spirits, and that we have multitudes of spectators on all our actions, when we think ourselves most alone. *** I am wonderfully pleased to think that I am always engaged with such an innumerable society in searching out the wonders of the creation, and joining in the same concert of praise and adoration."-Addison, in the Spectator, No. 12. "Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep; |