 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
24
HYMN.
Almighty! Thou didst stretch abroad the heavens;
Thy hand planted their depths with stars, and set
The glorious sun eternal in the midst,
And gave them all their courses through the air.
Thy breath rolled the deep darkness from the face
Of the beginning; light and life of Thee
Were born, and still do emanate from Thee.
To all that is, Thou givest life, and shed'st
Thy glorious light on all. And Thou didst lay
Earth's deep and firm foundations; and didst spread
O'er all her breast health, beauty and deep joy.
Thy hand planted their depths with stars, and set
The glorious sun eternal in the midst,
And gave them all their courses through the air.
Thy breath rolled the deep darkness from the face
Of the beginning; light and life of Thee
Were born, and still do emanate from Thee.
To all that is, Thou givest life, and shed'st
Thy glorious light on all. And Thou didst lay
Earth's deep and firm foundations; and didst spread
O'er all her breast health, beauty and deep joy.
Thou didst uplift the morning; and the night
Calm, silent, is an ordinance of Thine.
Nothing is so minute, but speaks Thy power;
Each opening flower proclaims infinity,
And every stirring leaf, a God. This earth,
This mighty globe upon its centre turns,
And gives a glimpse of Thine eternal works,—
A narrow glimpse that shows superior worlds
As specks, and distant suns as points. How vast,
How beautiful, are all thy works, O God!
This silent hour of midnight speaks of Thee,
And nature's loveliness proclaims Thee near.
Stretched far around, the woody mountains lie,
Upheaved and motionless—banks of white mist
Rest sweetly in the moonlight o'er the vales,
And the calm river tells a peaceful tale
As it moves oceanward. The winds are not.
Heaven's wide blue arch is noiseless as the grave,
And peace, deep peace, is written on the scene.
Calm, silent, is an ordinance of Thine.
Nothing is so minute, but speaks Thy power;
Each opening flower proclaims infinity,
And every stirring leaf, a God. This earth,
This mighty globe upon its centre turns,
And gives a glimpse of Thine eternal works,—
A narrow glimpse that shows superior worlds
As specks, and distant suns as points. How vast,
How beautiful, are all thy works, O God!
This silent hour of midnight speaks of Thee,
And nature's loveliness proclaims Thee near.
25
Upheaved and motionless—banks of white mist
Rest sweetly in the moonlight o'er the vales,
And the calm river tells a peaceful tale
As it moves oceanward. The winds are not.
Heaven's wide blue arch is noiseless as the grave,
And peace, deep peace, is written on the scene.
The dead in yonder bank sleep quietly,
For thou, O God, dost keep them, and thine eye
Is ever on their dark and still abodes.
The oppressor and the oppressed are gathered there,
The rich and poor on the same level rest,
And friends and foes lie nerveless side by side:
The same green turf is on the breasts of all,
And the same dreamless sleep their common lot.
Ah! who can look upon the silent tombs
Where rest the generations past away,
And read not there the frailty of mankind;
Read that his life's a vapor, fading fast,
That honor and distinction are a name,
And pomp and riches but a fleeting shade.
Lo! man comes forth in glory! walks the earth,
Pride kindles in his eye, and joy and hope
And love sit mantling on his youthful cheek;
An hour glides by, and he is with the dead.
Thou in his mid career dost smite him down,
And lay his expectations in the dust.
Thy works, O Father, teach me that thou art!
Mute nature has a voice that tells of thee;
And may I learn a lesson from these graves,
And be this spot to me a Monitor
To warn me of my end, to guard my path,
And teach me so to keep my wayward heart,
That when the hour of my departure comes,
I bow my head and go to Thee in peace.
For thou, O God, dost keep them, and thine eye
Is ever on their dark and still abodes.
The oppressor and the oppressed are gathered there,
The rich and poor on the same level rest,
And friends and foes lie nerveless side by side:
The same green turf is on the breasts of all,
And the same dreamless sleep their common lot.
Ah! who can look upon the silent tombs
Where rest the generations past away,
And read not there the frailty of mankind;
Read that his life's a vapor, fading fast,
That honor and distinction are a name,
And pomp and riches but a fleeting shade.
Lo! man comes forth in glory! walks the earth,
Pride kindles in his eye, and joy and hope
And love sit mantling on his youthful cheek;
An hour glides by, and he is with the dead.
Thou in his mid career dost smite him down,
26
Thy works, O Father, teach me that thou art!
Mute nature has a voice that tells of thee;
And may I learn a lesson from these graves,
And be this spot to me a Monitor
To warn me of my end, to guard my path,
And teach me so to keep my wayward heart,
That when the hour of my departure comes,
I bow my head and go to Thee in peace.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |