But mind, and earth, and air, and sky, are still,
As if the enchanter's magic wand had passed,
And changed them all to cold and voiceless marble.
It builds itself a high and kingly throne,
And sways a tyrant's sceptre; Truth is led,
Like a poor captive, at its chariot wheels,
And suffering Nature mourns through all her works.
Ah! this is not Philosophy, but Pride!
It seems, my brothers, but as yesterday,
Since first our willing steps were hither bent
In search of knowledge. Even now we stand
Just by her golden gates, and gaze away
Into her labyrinths of loveliness.
We hear the fearful curse denounced on those,
Who promised to direct, but led astray,
The melancholy cry of murdered peace.
And yet it almost prompts the tear of joy,
To think what deep delight, what usefulness,
Are his, who walks upon that magic ground,
Yet walks in safety!
Who who will be to us the friend, the guide,
That will conduct us to our journey's end?
Oh sweet Humility! thy lowly temper
Shall be to us our Star of Bethlehem,
Shall guide our footsteps in our wanderings,
And bring us safely to our home at last;
Amid the mazes of bewildered thought
Thy heavenly light shall rest upon our path,
And, as we humbly bow to ask for guidance,
Reveal the hand that kindly points the way!
There is no sin in Nature;
Whose spirit holds communion with her spirit,
Will find a sweet and soothing influence steal,
Like the strange power of music, o'er his heart;
His spirit will forget its wonted pride,
And learn to worship, as it learns to feel.
But he, who seeks to know Humility
In all her loveliness, must come and gaze
Upon her likeness in GoD's holy word;
His own unerring hand hath sketched it there, — So beautiful, it well may win our love.
It was amid the visions of the night:
Darkness lay like a mantle on the earth;
I dreamed, I stood upon heaven's battlements,
And lo! an angel spread his mighty wings,
And took his flight along the golden wall,
That girds the courts of everlasting light;
And, as he flew, he lifted up his voice,
And cried, "Humility is dead!"
A strange convulsion came upon my frame,
And the cold sweat stood on my throbbing brow;
Thrice did he spread his pinions to the wind,
And thrice I heard that melancholy cry,
"Humility is dead!" and then he paused,
Even in mid heaven, and folded up his wings,
And bowed his head upon his breast, and died.
I looked to heaven; and from its crystal columns
The banners of rebellion were hung out,
And on them written, "GOD is King no more!"
Those harps, that late had breathed such rapturous
Upon the jewelled pavement lay unstrung; Strange sounds of blasphemy broke on the ear, And fearful shouts usurped the place of praise. I looked to earth, — and as I looked I wept : Good men forgot their wonted gentleness,
And higher swelled the angry cry for blood,
The blood of rulers whom they late had loved;
Earth seemed an amphitheatre, in which
Man's vilest passions strove for mastery.
A moment more; a rushing, mighty sound
Came like the noise of many chariot wheels,
And heaven and earth were hushed to quietness,
For both were still in universal death.
My brothers, we have hither come to-day,
Forth from the turmoil of the busy world,
The strife of passion and of interest,-
Have turned away from sorrow and from care,
To come to this glad meeting of warm hearts,
This holy festival of love and joy.
Unutterable thoughts come o'er the soul,
With their sweet burden of departed bliss.
We have scarce learned the rudiments of sorrow,
And yet these by-gone days seem passing sweet!
What then, when years shall come, if come they do,
And the tired spirit find no resting-place
From its afflictions, save the past, and heaven?
Our memories! how very kind they are,
Just like the summer wind, that comes at eve,
Upon a bed of roses, that has lain
In its unruffled sweetness all day long,
And folds their gathered fragrance in its arms, A welcome tribute to some other land.
Oh, you remember all!
In the deep chambers of the inmost breast! And, when I touch the chord of college days, I wake a thousand hidden harmonies.
Do not forget them: - they will be to you,
As are the notes of that strange singing bird,
That dies in music; the last seems sweetest!
Do not forget them: it would be unkind
Thus to repay the pleasures they have given.
Do not forget them: for our early joys
And early friends are linked in love together. By all the friendship you have once professed,— Yes! by this solemn hour, do not forget.
IN the night watch my vision came and went :
Methought I stood among the gathered crowd,
And gazed upon the vivid scene that passed
In full review before me, - for 't was bright!
The tramping steed in rich caparison,
With eye that almost looked contempt for man, -
'T was well he should be proud; for he did bear
Greatness, and glory, all that men call such;
And, as the splendid pomp was passing on,
The swelling bugle, and the rolling drum,
And trump, that tells the greatness of the great,
Sent forth their music on the sportive wind,
And brought to memory the glorious past;
The din of war came forth with sound so deep,
And the rich battle-field was pictured there!
The cavalcade passed on; and knight, and plume,
And glittering arms, and horsemen well attired,
Shone in their splendor, as they passed along.
The vision changed: and music's sweetest notes Came with a silken sound upon my ear;
Beauty was smiling there with angel charms,
And shed her radiance o'er the fairy scene;
Bright eyes looked love to eyes that shone as fair
As moonbeams stealing through some silvery cloud;
And hearts beat high with fond expectancy
Of coming happiness and hours of bliss ;
They thought not, cared not, for the distant future;
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