BY BRYANT.
THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems,-in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless Power And inaccessible Majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised! Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn-thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear.
Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look
down
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in Thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze,
And shot towards heaven. The century-living
crow
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till at last they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride ;-no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here-thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees
In music ;-Thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt :-the barky trunks, the
ground,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. Here is continual worship ;-nature, here, In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and
grace,
Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak- By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated-not a prince,
In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the in-dwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe.
My heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me-the perpetual work Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed For ever. Written on Thy works, I read The lesson of Thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth- In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death-yea, seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From Thine own bosom, and shall have no end.
There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them :-and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes
« PreviousContinue » |