And dreams of that which cannot die, Bright visions, came to me, Dreams that the soul of youth engage And, loving still these quaint old themes, I feel the freshness of the streams, Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The Spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's-caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. The green trees whispered low and mild; They were my playmates when a child, And ever whispered, mild and low, And waved their long arms to and fro, Into the woodlands hoar, Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapor soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, The dreams of youth came back again, Visions of childhood! Stay, O stay! "The land of Song within thee lies, "Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Then comes the fearful wintry blast; We can return no more!' 'Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright,Be these henceforth thy theme." HYMN TO THE NIGHT. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O, holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.-FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. 1 THE LIGHT OF STARS. THE night is come, but not too soon; All silently, the little moon There is no light in earth or heaven Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? And earnest thoughts within me rise, The shield of that red star. O star of strength! I see thee stand Within my breast there is no light I give the first watch of the night The star of the unconquered will, And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, Then the forms of the departed He, the young and strong, who cherished They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, And with them the Being Beauteous, 13 |