 | The Western home |  |
104
A TALK WITH THE BROOKS.
The voice of brooks spake to me, as I walked
At winter noon-day. Up, through icy veils,
Cold and transparent, glanced their sparkling eyes,
While ever and anon, as some brief plunge
Gave them advantage o'er the softening banks,
They brake their fetters.
At winter noon-day. Up, through icy veils,
Cold and transparent, glanced their sparkling eyes,
While ever and anon, as some brief plunge
Gave them advantage o'er the softening banks,
They brake their fetters.
“Why have ye come forth
Thus, ere your time, to touch with trembling green
The taper grass-blades, and the tiny plants
That on your margin grow?”
Thus, ere your time, to touch with trembling green
The taper grass-blades, and the tiny plants
That on your margin grow?”
“They slept so long,”
The brooklets said, “we feared they would forget
The mighty Quickener's name, who ever decks
This earth with beauty. So we gently waked
Their cradle-dream, bidding them learn of us
The Maker's praise, which, murmuring, we repeat.”
The brooklets said, “we feared they would forget
The mighty Quickener's name, who ever decks
This earth with beauty. So we gently waked
Their cradle-dream, bidding them learn of us
The Maker's praise, which, murmuring, we repeat.”
105
“Make haste on your sweet errand, tuneful brooks!
Tint these young lips with life while yet ye may,
For, lo! stern Winter weaves a stronger chain
To bind ye, hand and foot. Methinks, I hear
Even now his purpose, on the rising blast.”
Tint these young lips with life while yet ye may,
For, lo! stern Winter weaves a stronger chain
To bind ye, hand and foot. Methinks, I hear
Even now his purpose, on the rising blast.”
“Then,” they replied, “our lesson is for man:
When God shall shut the storm-cloud o'er his joys,
And quell his song, let him bear on like us,
In meekness, and in hope.”
When God shall shut the storm-cloud o'er his joys,
And quell his song, let him bear on like us,
In meekness, and in hope.”
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