Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwelling lies, For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy Spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along ; And this eternal sound Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. And when the hours of rest, The quiet of that moment too is thine, The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. W. C. Bryant. XLIV. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. ADY! that in the prime of earliest youth green, And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the hill of heavenly truth; The better part with Mary and with Ruth Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure, Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night, Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure J. Milton. XLV. DIVINE EJACULATIONS. OUNTAIN of light and living breath, Whose mercies never fail nor fade, Lord God of gods! before whose throne Stand storms and fire, O what shall we When all the world belongs to Thee! O Thou that sitt'st in heaven, and seest My deeds without, my thoughts within, How bitter my afflictions be I care not, so I rise to Thee. What I possess, or what I crave, Brings no content, great God, to me Be not possest and blest in Thee. When winter fortunes cloud the brows Of summer friends-when eyes grow strangeWhen plighted faith forgets its vows When earth and all things in it change, O Lord, Thy mercies fail me never; When once Thou lovest, Thou lovest for ever. Great God, whose kingdom hath no end, Whose mercy none can apprehend, Whose justice none can feel, and live,— What my dull heart cannot aspire To know, Lord, teach me to admire. XLVI. THE BELLS. 1. John Quarles. EAR the sledges with the bells Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! In the icy air of night! In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II. Hear the mellow wedding-bells— Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! How they ring out their delight! What a liquid ditty floats, To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats Oh, from out the sounding cells How it dwells On the future! how it tells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells ! How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavour By the side of the pale-faced moon. What a tale their terror tells How they clang and clash and roar ! On the bosom of the palpitating air! By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! IV. Hear the tolling of the bells— What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people-ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple, G |