« السابقةمتابعة »
My little doves were taken away
From that glad nest of theirs ; Across an ocean foaming aye,
And tempest-clouded airs. My little doves! who lately knew The sky and wave by warmth and blue !
And now, within the city prison
In mist and chillness pent,
For sounds of past content,
The stir without, the glow of passion, -
The triumph of the mart,
With man's metallic heart, -
Yet still, as on my human hand
Their fearless heads they lean, And almost seem to understand
What human musings mean, With such a plaintive gaze their eyne Are fastened upwardly to mine!
Their chant is soft as on the nest
Beneath the sunny sky; For love, that stirred it in their breast,
Remains undyingly, And, 'neath the city's shade, can keep The well of music clear and deep.
And love, that keeps the music, fills
With pastoral memories !
All droppings from the skies,
So teach ye me the wisest part,
My little doves! to move
Assured by holy love,
To me fair memories belong
Of scenes that erst did bless;
And lasting thankfulness, -
I will have hopes that cannot fade,
For flowers the valley yields, -
Of silent, dewy fields !
THE warrior crossed the ocean's foam
For the stormy fields of war,
And a sunny land, afar.
His voice was heard where javelin-showers
Poured on the steel-clad line;
Her seat beneath the vine.
His shield was cleft, his lance was riven,
And the red blood stained his crest; While she - the gentlest wind of heaven
Might scarcely fan her breast.
Yet a thousand arrows passed him by,
And again he crossed the seas; But she had died, as roses die,
That perish with a breeze.
As roses die, when the blast is come
For all things bright and fair, There was death within the smiling home,
How had death found her there?
HUMAN FRAILTY. - Couper'.
WEAK and irresolute is man,
The purpose of to-day,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;
And it revives again.
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
But pleasure wins his heart.
'Tis here the folly of the wise,
Through all his art, we view;
His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,
Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail
To reach the distant coast;
Or all the toil is lost.
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. — Pope.
FATHER of all! in every age,
In every clime, adored,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined
And that myself am blind;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good frorn ill;
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives,
To enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O, teach
heart To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.