THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. 93 THE EARLY DAWN. On seeing a picture of Morning on the Mountains. How beautiful is morning! I have been, Painter, like thee, a wanderer, when the hills Slept in their own great shadows, and have seen The dawn kiss out the stars, have heard the rills Warbling unseen, and sending forth the thrills Of soothing melody. Methinks thou art My spirit's own interpreter, we gaze In kindred feelings, gaze, ay, heart to heart, GEORGE HUME, THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. ST. MATTHEW 6: 28. SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies, To fill the heart's fond view? In childhood's sports, companions gay, 94 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. How soothing! in our last decay Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, Fallen all beside,-the world of life, But cheerful and unchanged the while The stars of heaven a course are taught Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, Your innocent mirth may borrow. THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. The birds of air before us fleet, They cannot brook our shame to meet But we may taste your solace sweet And come again to-morrow. Ye fearless in your nests abide Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried By all but lowly eyes: For ye could draw th' admiring gaze Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys: Your order wild, your fragrant maze, Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour, His blessing on earth's primal bower, Ye felt it all renewed. What care ye now, if winter's storm Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, That daily court you and caress, 95 96 THE QUESTION. How few the happy secret find Of your calm loveliness! "Live for to-day! to-morrow's light KEBLE. THE QUESTION. I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, dream. There grew pied windflowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth. The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth THE QUESTION. 97 The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it lears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-colored May, And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 13 |