 | The bells |  |
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SONG OF A HEART.
Ye who love Nature, and in Nature, God,
Listen to one whose heart is full of song
And gratitude unto his very lips.
Listen to one whose heart is full of song
And gratitude unto his very lips.
His music is not art-born; it leaps forth
Untutored, like the daisies of the spring,
Or brooks that babble of their own free will.
Untutored, like the daisies of the spring,
Or brooks that babble of their own free will.
In the sweet faces of the buds I see
The God that swings this flower-scented sphere,
Like a great censer, in the purple void!
The God that swings this flower-scented sphere,
Like a great censer, in the purple void!
I have a sense within me that perceives
His Presence in the blowing wind, and in
The footsteps of the crystal-footed Rain!
His Presence in the blowing wind, and in
The footsteps of the crystal-footed Rain!
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To him that holdeth Nature near his heart,
The brooks are hymning praises, and the sea
Is ever rolling some grand authem forth!
The brooks are hymning praises, and the sea
Is ever rolling some grand authem forth!
The grass that comes in April to the mounds
In grave-yards, and the vines that creep along
The humble porch of village churches, are
In grave-yards, and the vines that creep along
The humble porch of village churches, are
So many fingers pointing up to God!
So many holy monitors that tell
His majesty in silent eloquence!
So many holy monitors that tell
His majesty in silent eloquence!
O, Pilgrim to the Unseen Land! if thou
Art thirsty for the Living Waters; if
Thy lips do hunger for the Bread of Life,
Art thirsty for the Living Waters; if
Thy lips do hunger for the Bread of Life,
And yet thou fearest “the cold feel of death,”
The grave—that gate-way to eternity
And Paradise—love Nature, for 'tis God.
The grave—that gate-way to eternity
And Paradise—love Nature, for 'tis God.
| The bells | |