University of Virginia Library

God speaketh in the wilderness. His voice
Is ever audible in the lone bowers
Of this old giant forest. Even now
I hear it, with a low and solemn tone
Of breezy melody, moving the boughs
And lifting up the foliage, which appears
Like myriad wings, all fluttering with delight
That God should talk with them.
The summer flowers
That grow beneath upon the mossy banks,
Incline their heads and worship; while the birds,
Waked by the holy breathing, dress their plumes,
And lifting up their shining heads, reply
In strains of perfect rapture.
Oh! how sweet
That balmy voice, that living breath of life,
As soft it bathes the aching upraised brow,
And whispers peace. The anguished soul is soothed,
Earth, sense, and sin, and sorrow are forgot,
As that pure breathing stirs the spirit's lyre
To holy converse with Divinity.

God speaketh in the wilderness at eve,
What time the moon looks down with radiant brow,
And every leaf that catches her sweet smile
Grows brilliant with delight. While dell and bower
Beneath are wrapped in shadow, and the brook
Steals silently along, save where it meets
Her bright eye peeping through the emerald screen;
When, dimpling with delight, it gives her back
Her radiant smile, and with a silvery tone
Of joyous greeting, dances gaily on.
Hark! a majestic sound fills earth and heaven;
All Nature listens with deep reverence,
Silent and motionless. The Lord has made
Of the dark waters and thick clouds of heaven
His glorious pavilion. Beautiful
The silvery summits tower, in glittering piles
From the green bosom of the clustering wood.
Oh! what a gush of light,—as if the Lord
Waved his bright hand and bade the earth attend:
Then bursts again that awe-inspiring voice,
Shouting, I am! and there is none beside.
All nature hears and trembles; every voice
Is silent now, and every heart is faint,
While God rides forth upon the cherubim,
Winged with the winds, along the sounding sky.
The white moon veils her face, and the bright stars
Hide from his presence. Earth wraps o'er her breast
Her darkest mantle, and with trembling awe
Awaits his rushing chariot.
Lo, he comes!
His voice in the loud thunder and wild winds
Shaking the wilderness. The tall trees bow
In graceful adoration. Hark! That crash!
His finger touched a tall pine on the hill,
And it was broken. The firm wood is riven,
And thrown in splints like arrows through the shade.
The birds cower closer in their leafy screens;
The wild deer bound in terror from the spot,
And crouch down in the thicket.
Earth, and air,
And winds, and waters,—all are echoing now
The august voice of the eternal God:—
Let finite man be silent.