 | Poems of home and country |  |
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INTERVIEWS WITH NATURE.
THE FLAG IN NATURE.
All Nature sings wildly the song of the free;The red, white, and blue float o'er land and o'er sea,—
The white, in each billow that breaks on the shore;
The blue, in the arching that canopies o'er
The land of our birth, in its glory outspread;
And sunset dyes deepen and glow into red.
Day fades into night, and the red stripe retires;
But stars, o'er the blue, light their sentinel fires.
And though night be gloomy, with clouds overspread,
Each star holds its place in the field overhead;
When scatter the clouds, and the tempest is through,
We count every star in the field of the blue.
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FLOWERS.
Breaths from the upper world; Eden revived;
God's smiles on earth, made visible to men;
Light, prisoned up in form; honey, enhived;
Fair Paradise, once lost, restored again.
God's smiles on earth, made visible to men;
Light, prisoned up in form; honey, enhived;
Fair Paradise, once lost, restored again.
Beauty and love, enshrined in bell and cup;
Earth's innocents, that climb around our bowers;
Meek, brilliant eyes, that look so sweetly up,
Like raindrops, sparkling after summer showers.
Earth's innocents, that climb around our bowers;
Meek, brilliant eyes, that look so sweetly up,
Like raindrops, sparkling after summer showers.
Jewels to earth, as stars are to the skies,
Polished and set, by more than human skill;
Lessons that speak, though silent, to the eyes,—
Vocal in vale and plain, on ridge and hill.
Polished and set, by more than human skill;
Lessons that speak, though silent, to the eyes,—
Vocal in vale and plain, on ridge and hill.
Volumes of truth, that speak the mighty God,
Wise, loving, pitying, glorious, ever near,
That bid us trust the ever great and good,
Whose mercy wakes and crowns the rolling year.
Wise, loving, pitying, glorious, ever near,
That bid us trust the ever great and good,
Whose mercy wakes and crowns the rolling year.
Symbols of man's short life, too frail to stay;
Living, to die,—a sweet, but passing story;
Dying, to live when spring renews its day,—
The precious emblems of immortal glory.
Living, to die,—a sweet, but passing story;
Dying, to live when spring renews its day,—
The precious emblems of immortal glory.
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FLOWERS IN WINTER.
Fair flowers that bloom so richly,
As if the summer's breath
Were wafted o'er their birthplace,
And not the chill of death!
I hail the joyful emblem,—
Fit cheer for hours of gloom,—
Earth has its wintry trials,
But 't is not all a tomb.
As if the summer's breath
Were wafted o'er their birthplace,
And not the chill of death!
I hail the joyful emblem,—
Fit cheer for hours of gloom,—
Earth has its wintry trials,
But 't is not all a tomb.
I listen in the evening
To the sighing of the gale;
I watch the heaping snowdrifts,
And hear the rattling hail;
And I think, with grateful spirit,
What a glorious God is ours,
Who is mighty in the tempest,
And gentle in the flowers.
To the sighing of the gale;
I watch the heaping snowdrifts,
And hear the rattling hail;
And I think, with grateful spirit,
What a glorious God is ours,
Who is mighty in the tempest,
And gentle in the flowers.
The piercing blasts are blowing;
But every smiling cup
Breathes forth such charming fragrance,
And looks so sweetly up,
I forget the shortened daylight,
And the wintry chill and gloom,
And heaven seems hovering near me,
With its everlasting bloom.
But every smiling cup
Breathes forth such charming fragrance,
And looks so sweetly up,
I forget the shortened daylight,
And the wintry chill and gloom,
And heaven seems hovering near me,
With its everlasting bloom.
And I see amid the darkness
Of the path that mortals tread,
In the land of grief and partings,
Of the mourning and the dead,
How God, with loving mercy,
Softening the painful blow,
Leaves joy, to gild our sorrow,
Like flowers in time of snow.
Of the path that mortals tread,
In the land of grief and partings,
Of the mourning and the dead,
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Softening the painful blow,
Leaves joy, to gild our sorrow,
Like flowers in time of snow.
The cherished forms that faltered,
And we laid them down to rest,
In their still retreats are sleeping,
With the peace of Jesus blest;
Like the blossom from the tuber,
Like the harvest from the grain,
They will spring,—the time approaches,—
To their lovely life again.
And we laid them down to rest,
In their still retreats are sleeping,
With the peace of Jesus blest;
Like the blossom from the tuber,
Like the harvest from the grain,
They will spring,—the time approaches,—
To their lovely life again.
They are living still in beauty,
Where the soft airs ever last,
Where they never feel the fury
Of the winter's bitter blast;
Nor frosts, with chilling fingers,
Nor griefs, with scalding tear,
Where summer ever lingers,
And flowers bloom all the year.
Where the soft airs ever last,
Where they never feel the fury
Of the winter's bitter blast;
Nor frosts, with chilling fingers,
Nor griefs, with scalding tear,
Where summer ever lingers,
And flowers bloom all the year.
A SONG OF SPRING.
Welcome, the opening buds of spring;
Welcome, the dew and rain;
Welcome, the merry birds that sing;
Welcome, the bursting grain.
Welcome, the dew and rain;
Welcome, the merry birds that sing;
Welcome, the bursting grain.
Welcome, the balmy airs that breathe,
The rainbows, and the showers;
Welcome, the early flowers that wreathe
Their beauty round our bowers.
The rainbows, and the showers;
Welcome, the early flowers that wreathe
Their beauty round our bowers.
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Wild from a thousand warbling throats
Melodious music rings;
Matin and vesper swells and floats,—
Nature's sweet offerings.
Melodious music rings;
Matin and vesper swells and floats,—
Nature's sweet offerings.
Each bird that soars, each bud that breaks
In beauty from its cell,
Tuneful, or still, one accent wakes,—
“God has done all things well.”
In beauty from its cell,
Tuneful, or still, one accent wakes,—
“God has done all things well.”
Let tree and wood, let vale and hill,
Swell the sweet, grateful song,
And wave, and rock, and rippling rill,
The echoing strain prolong.
Swell the sweet, grateful song,
And wave, and rock, and rippling rill,
The echoing strain prolong.
THE LITTLE CRICKET.
You sweet little cricket,
Amid the night dew,
While the moon shines so brightly,
I'll listen to you.
I love your dull chirping,
Your shrill monotone;
You soothe, with your music,
This bosom so lone.
Amid the night dew,
While the moon shines so brightly,
I'll listen to you.
I love your dull chirping,
Your shrill monotone;
You soothe, with your music,
This bosom so lone.
Your voice, like the breezes
That mournfully play,
When the red leaves of autumn
Look gaudy and gay,
Tells of joys now departed,
No more to return,
Of summer hopes blasted,
Of fair flowers torn.
That mournfully play,
When the red leaves of autumn
Look gaudy and gay,
Tells of joys now departed,
No more to return,
Of summer hopes blasted,
Of fair flowers torn.
322
Sweet cricket, thy music
Will quickly be still,
When the tempests of winter
Roar loud on the hill;
But I go when the storm comes,
Where all my friends dwell,—
No more shall my heart say
To gladness farewell!
Will quickly be still,
When the tempests of winter
Roar loud on the hill;
But I go when the storm comes,
Where all my friends dwell,—
No more shall my heart say
To gladness farewell!
July 25, 1831.
WILD STRAWBERRIES.
In the thick and grassy wood,
Where the sunny streaks are breaking,
And the birds their songs are waking,
Where the mossy flowers repose,
There the pretty strawberry grows.
Where the sunny streaks are breaking,
And the birds their songs are waking,
Where the mossy flowers repose,
There the pretty strawberry grows.
Pretty strawberry, fresh and sweet,
Say who made your cheek so shining,
Like the crimson sun declining,
And who made your pleasant smell,—
Tell me, pretty strawberry, tell?
Say who made your cheek so shining,
Like the crimson sun declining,
And who made your pleasant smell,—
Tell me, pretty strawberry, tell?
It was God who made you so;
God, your ruddy color brightens,
And your charming odor heightens.
Leafy pines, and firs so straight,
Whisper, “Children, God is great.”
God, your ruddy color brightens,
And your charming odor heightens.
Leafy pines, and firs so straight,
Whisper, “Children, God is great.”
323
THE CANARY AT SEA.
[_]
On the Cunard Steamer Abyssinia, far from land, a canary bird made its home as contentedly as if in its native forest. The poet has given to the incident that spiritual lesson which has marked his lifework as a lover of Nature, in close companionship with Nature's Master, the Creator of all.
Sweet wanderer o'er the sea,
Where wild winds moan,
And billowy waves, like pulses, beat
Their monotone,—
How tread thy little feet, so gay,
Devoid of fear?
How is thy heart so brave and bold,—
A stranger here?
Where wild winds moan,
And billowy waves, like pulses, beat
Their monotone,—
How tread thy little feet, so gay,
Devoid of fear?
How is thy heart so brave and bold,—
A stranger here?
The summer bloom, the verdant fields,
Are far away;
No leafy bower, no warbled tone,
Invites thy stay.
Sea here, sea there, sea everywhere,
Wave chasing wave,—
In peril's hour, O, who has power
To shield or save?
Are far away;
No leafy bower, no warbled tone,
Invites thy stay.
Sea here, sea there, sea everywhere,
Wave chasing wave,—
In peril's hour, O, who has power
To shield or save?
Enough for thee, the strong-rigged bark,
In calm and storm,
Will shelter and protect from harm
Thy tiny form;
Cling to the refuge, and be safe
From wave and gale,
And o'er the ocean's boundless waste
Securely sail.
In calm and storm,
Will shelter and protect from harm
Thy tiny form;
Cling to the refuge, and be safe
From wave and gale,
And o'er the ocean's boundless waste
Securely sail.
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Wanderers o'er life's uncertain course,—
A dangerous sea,—
Our only refuge, Son of God,
We find in Thee;
Led captive by no lower aim,
To Thee we cling,
And rest in perfect faith and hope
Beneath Thy wing.
A dangerous sea,—
Our only refuge, Son of God,
We find in Thee;
Led captive by no lower aim,
To Thee we cling,
And rest in perfect faith and hope
Beneath Thy wing.
Sweet, simple bird, of watchful eye
And lithest limb,
Thy trust is in this gallant ship;
But ours, in Him.
Thy hope may founder through some leak,
Or stormy gale;
Ours, anchored to the throne of God,
Can never fail.
And lithest limb,
Thy trust is in this gallant ship;
But ours, in Him.
Thy hope may founder through some leak,
Or stormy gale;
Ours, anchored to the throne of God,
Can never fail.
October 24, 1880.
TREE-PLANTING, OR ARBOR DAY.
Joy for the sturdy trees,
Fanned by each fragrant breeze,
Lovely they stand.
The song-birds o'er them trill;
They shade each tinkling rill;
They crown each swelling hill,
Lowly or grand.
Fanned by each fragrant breeze,
Lovely they stand.
The song-birds o'er them trill;
They shade each tinkling rill;
They crown each swelling hill,
Lowly or grand.
Plant them by stream and way,
Plant them where children play,
And toilers rest;
In every verdant vale,
On every sunny swale;—
Whether to grow or fail,
God knoweth best.
Plant them where children play,
And toilers rest;
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On every sunny swale;—
Whether to grow or fail,
God knoweth best.
Select the strong, the fair;
Plant them with earnest care,—
No toil is vain;
Plant in a fitter place,
Where, like a lovely face
Set in some sweeter grace,
Change may prove gain.
Plant them with earnest care,—
No toil is vain;
Plant in a fitter place,
Where, like a lovely face
Set in some sweeter grace,
Change may prove gain.
God will His blessing send;
All things on Him depend,—
His loving care
Clings to each leaf and flower,
Like ivy to its tower,—
His presence and His power
Are everywhere.
All things on Him depend,—
His loving care
Clings to each leaf and flower,
Like ivy to its tower,—
His presence and His power
Are everywhere.
326
THE ELOQUENCE OF NATURE.
Go ye, and read at length the mystic loreWhere some Niagara's dark waters roar.
Draw nearer; the tremble at the amazing plan;
See how they scorn the pygmy works of man.
Admire the swelling, grand, foreboding hush,
Where they are gathering for the awful rush
That bears them thundering down the dizzy steep,
To mingle, boiling, in the foamy deep.
List to the rumbling of the mighty floods,—
Their eloquence is but the type of God's;
Or, note the tempest's wrath, the lightning's glare,
The rainbow's image on the cloudy air,—
Bright, beautiful, divine, too fair to stay,
Where all created beauty fades away.
Think how the whirlwind's wrath, the thunder's pride,
Terrific, echoing from the mountain's side—
Suns, planets, comets, on their pathway rolled,
Like brilliant, burning, moving orbs of gold;
The summer's radiant glow, mild autumn's ray,—
All, all, the great Creator's might display.
Each flower that sheds its fragrance on the air
Shows some divinest signet fastened there;
Exalts the soul above this meanest clod,
And bids us see and hear a present God,
Whose voice of majesty no words confine,—
An eloquence eternal, deep, divine.
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