 | Hagar |  |
212
SEPTEMBER.
I wearied of the August sun—
Its humid air—its skies of gloom;
And when at last its course was run,
I welcomed in a fairer moon.
Its humid air—its skies of gloom;
And when at last its course was run,
I welcomed in a fairer moon.
A dreamy calm is in the skies,
A balmy breath comes on the air,
A mystic silence round me lies;
Which bids me take no thought of care.
A balmy breath comes on the air,
A mystic silence round me lies;
Which bids me take no thought of care.
The willow branches floating round,
Enclose me in a temple rare;
The golden light comes softly down.
And sheds its glory everywhere.
Enclose me in a temple rare;
The golden light comes softly down.
And sheds its glory everywhere.
I watch the branches swaying low—
Which move, yet seem to dream of rest,
My heart beats wearily—with woe
And pain, and care, and doubt opprest.
Which move, yet seem to dream of rest,
My heart beats wearily—with woe
And pain, and care, and doubt opprest.
O willow! wrap me in thy green,
And wreathe around my heart, thy spell
Of quiet rest—to-day I'll dream,
To-morrow I may work as well.
And wreathe around my heart, thy spell
Of quiet rest—to-day I'll dream,
To-morrow I may work as well.
Not always may the spirit strive
With cares without, and doubts within,
Kind Nature seems at times to shrive
The soul from all its grief and sin:
With cares without, and doubts within,
Kind Nature seems at times to shrive
The soul from all its grief and sin:
213
And like a weary child we rest,
And gaze into the blue above,
Close nestled to our Mother's breast,
O'ershadowed by our Father's love.
And gaze into the blue above,
Close nestled to our Mother's breast,
O'ershadowed by our Father's love.
1855.
| Hagar | |