His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, Blind unbelief is sure to err, And He will make it plain. WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800. TO THE DAISY. BRIGHT flower, whose home is everywhere! And all the long year through, the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see Is it that man is soon deprest? Or on his reason, D And thou wouldst teach him how to find A hope for times that are unkind Thou wanderest the wide world about, Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, Thy function apostolical In peace fulfilling. W. WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850. THERE IS A POWER AND PRESENCE IN THE WOODS! BROODS there some spirit here? The summer leaves hang silent as a cloud, 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. |