The very light, that streams Through the dim dewy veil of foliage round, Wakes there some spirit here? A swift wind, fraught with change, comes rushing by, Yes, lightly, softly move! There is a Power, a Presence in the woods; The rich air knows it, and the mossy sod- And if with awe we tread The minster-floor, beneath the storied pane, The silence and the sound In the lone places breathe alike of Thee; The dew-cup of the frail anemone, The reed by every wandering whisper thrill'd- Oh, purify mine eyes, More and yet more, by love and lowly thought, In these majestic aisles which Thou hast wrought! And sanctify my heart To meet the awful sweetness of that tone, Let me not know the change O'er nature thrown by Guilt!—the boding sky, The hollow leaf-sounds ominous and strange, The weight wherewith the dark tree-shadows lie! Father! oh keep my footsteps pure and free, To walk the woods with Thee! ANONYMOUS. GOD THE COMFORTER. OH, Thou! who dry'st the mourner's tear, The friends, who in our sunshine live, When joy no longer soothes or cheers, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, Did not Thy Wing of Love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above? Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray; As darkness shews us worlds of light We never saw by day! THOMAS MOORE, 1779-1852. FOREST MUSINGS. THE green leaves waving in the morning gale— The little birds that 'mid their freshness singThe wild-wood flowers so tender-eyed and pale— The wood-mouse sitting by the forest springThe morning dew-the wild bees' woodland hum, All woo my feet to Nature's forest home. 'Tis beautiful, from some tall craggy peak To watch the setting of the blessed sunTo mark his light grow weaker, and more weak, Till earth and sky be hid in twilight dun ; 'Tis beautiful to watch the earliest ray, That sparkling comes across the ocean gray. But, oh! more beautiful—more passing sweet And gentle airs the bursting buds do kiss— Where forest paths, and glades, and thickets green, Make up, of flowers and leaves, a world serene. To the pure heart, 'tis happiness to mark The tree-tops waving in the warm sunshine, Oh! gloriously beautiful is earth! The desert wild, the mountain old and hoar, The sweeping ocean-wave, the pebbled shore, There I can muse, away from living men, Reclining peacefully on Nature's breast, Alone with God, within His forest fane, Here it can learn-will learn to love all things All faults, all failings: here the heart's deep springs A deep mysterious sympathy doth bind The human heart to nature's beauties all; We know not, guess not, of its force or kind; But that it is we know. When ill doth fall Upon us-when our hearts are sear'd and riven— We'll seek the forest land for peace and heaven. ROBERT NICOLL, 1814-1837. |