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HYMN OF NATURE.
Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest
Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And stars to set—but all,
HYMN OF NATURE.-PEABODY.
God of the earth's extended plains!
The dark-green fields contented lie:
Where man might commune with the sky;
That lowers upon the vale below,
With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heavy deep!
The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Hath summoned up their thundering bands;
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas,
Serenely breathes, Depart in peace.
God of the forest's solemn shade!
The grandeur of the lonely tree,
Lifts up admiring eyes to thee;
But more majestic far they stand,
When, side by side, their ranks they form, To wave on high their plumes of green,
And fight their battles with the storm.
God of the light and viewless air!
Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their airy might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow; All—'from the evening's plaintive sigh,
That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry
Breathe forth the language of thy power.
God of the fair and open sky!
How gloriously above us springs The tented doñie, of heavenly blue,
Suspended on the rainbow's rings! Each brilliant star that sparkles through,
Each gilded cloud that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives
The beauty of its praise to thee.
God of the rolling orbs above!
Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven,
Were kindled at thy burning throne.
God of the world I the hour must come,
And Nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay;
Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace
The beauty of the world below.
And asked a draught from the spring that flowed
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
“Thanks,” said the Judge—"a sweeter draught From a fairer hand, was never quaffed.”
He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.
And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And listened, while a pleased surprise
At last, like one who for delay
Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!
“He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine.
“My father would wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat.
“I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
“And I'd feed the hungry, and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left the door."
The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
“A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er has it been my lot to meet.
“ And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.
"Would she were mine, and I to-day Like her, a harvester of hay!
"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues ;
"But low of cattle and song of birds,
But he thought of his sisters proud and cold,
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
And the young girl mused beside the well,
He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Oft when the wine in his glass was red,
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
And the proud man sighed with secret pain, “Ah, that I were free again!
"Free as when I rode that day,
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
But care, and sorrow, and childbirth pain,
And oft, when summer sun shone hot
And she heard the little spring-brook fall