Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots,
That choked its reedy fountain, and dark rocks,
Worn smooth by the constant current. Even there
The listless wave, that stole, with mellow voice,
Where reeds grew rank upon the rushy brink,
And to the wandering wind the green sedge bent,
Sang a sweet song of fixed tranquillity.
Men felt the heavenly influence; and it stole
Like balm into their hearts, till all was peace;
And even the air they breathed, the light they saw,
Became Religion;-for the ethereal spirit,'
That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling,
And mellows every thing to beauty, moved
With cheering energy within their breasts,
And made all holy there for all was love.
The morning stars, that sweetly sang together,
The moon, that hung at night in the mid-sky,
Dayspring, and eventide, and all the fair
And beautiful forms of nature, had a voice
Of eloquent worship. Ocean, with its tide,
Swelling and deep, where low the infant storm
Hung on his dun, dark cloud, and heavily beat
The pulses of the sea, sent forth a voice
Of awful adoration to the Spirit,
That, wrapped in darkness, moved upon its face.
And when the bow of evening arched the east,
Or, in the moonlight pale, the gentle wave
Kissed, with a sweet embrace, the sea-worn beach,
And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters,
The mingled melody of wind and wave
Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear;
For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship.
And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth
No pure reflections caught from heavenly love?
Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song?
Let him, that, in the summer-day of youth,
Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling,
And him, that, in the night-fall of his years,
Lies down in his last sleep, and shuts in peace
His weary eyes on life's short wayfaring,
Praise Him that rules the destiny of man.
O LET my trembling soul be still,
While darkness veils this mortal eye,
And wait thy wise, thy holy will,
Wrapt yet in fears and mystery;
I cannot, Lord, thy purpose see,
Yet all is well-since ruled by thee.
When mounted on thy clouded car,
Thou sendest thy darker spirits down,
I can discern thy light afar,
Thy light sweet beaming through thy frown;
And should I faint a moment, then
I think of thee-and smile again.
So trusting in thy love, I tread
The narrow path of duty on;
What though some cherished joys are fled!
What though some flattering dreams are gone!
Yet purer, brighter joys remain;
Why should my spirit then complain?
ACTIVE CHRISTIAN BENEVOLENCE.
WOULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.
"Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
Its life and beauty; not when all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf, its bosom rich and fair,
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
Wake thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,
Lest these lost years should haunt thee, on the night
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours,
To take their swift and everlasting flight;
Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed:
Do something-do it soon-with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest.
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined.
Pray heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose-to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind;
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
No good of worth sublime, will heaven permit
To light on man as from the passing air;
The lamp of genius though by nature lit,
If not protected, pruned, and fed with care,
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare;
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,
That, mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.
Has immortality of name been given
To them that idly worship hills and groves,
And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven?
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves,
To measure worlds and follow where each moves?
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease,
By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves?
Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace,
By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?
Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear
But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim
Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldst not hear
From other lips, without a blush of shame,
Or pride indignant: then be thine the blame,
And make thyself of worth; and thus enlist
The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame;
'Tis infamy to die and not be missed,
Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.
Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
And thou an angel's happiness shalt know;
Shalt bless the earth while in the world above;
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours,
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow,
Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.
STEWARDS of God! his richest gifts who hold,
Sublime dispensers to your brother's need,
Can Charity within those breasts grow cold,
Where Faith and Hope have sown their holy seed?
Hoard ye
the stores of heaven?-Ah, then beware
Lest its pure manna turn to bitterness and care.
Stewards of God!-replete with living bread,
Shall any famish in your rosy path?
Have ye a garment which ye will not spread
Around those naked souls in winter's wrath?
Ye see them sink amid destruction's blast,
Unmoved ye hear their cry!—What will ye plead at last?
Ye have that cup of wine which Jesus blest
At his last supper with the chosen train;
Ye have a book divine, whose high behest
Go, teach all nations," sends its thrilling strain Into your secret chamber. Can it be
That selfishness enslaves the souls by Christ made free?
Do you indeed on time's tempestuous shore
Wear the meek armour of the Crucified?
Yet stretch no hand, no supplication pour,
To save the fainting souls for whom He died?
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