 | [Poems by Hale in] The opal |  |
275
FOREST WORSHIP.
What numbers, when the Sabbath comes,
Are trooping from their forest homes!
The maiden, pure as prairie rose,
Beside her bending grandsire goes;
The fawn-eyed children bound at large,
The mother brings her nursling charge,—
And, bearing some pale, sickly child,
Stalks the strong hunter of the wild.
Are trooping from their forest homes!
The maiden, pure as prairie rose,
Beside her bending grandsire goes;
The fawn-eyed children bound at large,
The mother brings her nursling charge,—
And, bearing some pale, sickly child,
Stalks the strong hunter of the wild.
And he may see, through copse-wood near,
The antlers of the browsing deer;
Or, as his path through prairie goes,
Hear the dull tramp of buffaloes;
Or savage foe, or beast of prey,
May haunt his steps, or bar his way,
And so, like knight he goes prepared
His foes to meet, his friends to guard:
The rifle in his ready hand
Proclaims the forester's command,—
And as his glance is onward cast,
Or wild-wood sounds go rustling past,
His flashing eye and flushing cheek
Betray the wish he may not speak;—
But soon these fancies fade away,
Checked by the thought—'tis Sabbath Day!
And when he gains the House of Prayer,
Heart, soul and mind are centered there.
The antlers of the browsing deer;
Or, as his path through prairie goes,
Hear the dull tramp of buffaloes;
Or savage foe, or beast of prey,
May haunt his steps, or bar his way,
And so, like knight he goes prepared
His foes to meet, his friends to guard:
The rifle in his ready hand
Proclaims the forester's command,—
And as his glance is onward cast,
Or wild-wood sounds go rustling past,
His flashing eye and flushing cheek
277
But soon these fancies fade away,
Checked by the thought—'tis Sabbath Day!
And when he gains the House of Prayer,
Heart, soul and mind are centered there.
That House of Prayer—how mean beside
The grand Cathedral's sculptured pride!
Yet He who in a manger slept,
And in the wilds his vigils kept,
Will breathe a holy charm around,
Where his true followers are found.
Oh! never dream it low and rude,
Though fashioned by the settler's axe,
The sap still weeping from the wood,
As loath to leave its brother trees,
That wave above it in the breeze,
No pomp it needs, no glory lacks;—
The holy angels are its guard,
And pious feet its planks have trod;
'Tis consecrated to the Lord,
The Temple of the living God!
The grand Cathedral's sculptured pride!
Yet He who in a manger slept,
And in the wilds his vigils kept,
Will breathe a holy charm around,
Where his true followers are found.
Oh! never dream it low and rude,
Though fashioned by the settler's axe,
The sap still weeping from the wood,
As loath to leave its brother trees,
That wave above it in the breeze,
No pomp it needs, no glory lacks;—
The holy angels are its guard,
And pious feet its planks have trod;
'Tis consecrated to the Lord,
The Temple of the living God!
But when the Sabbath gatherings press,
Like armies, from the wilderness,
'Tis then the dim, old woods afford
The Sanctuary of the Lord!
The Holy Spirit breathes around—
That forest glade is sacred ground,
Nor temple built with hands could vie
In glory with its majesty.
Like armies, from the wilderness,
'Tis then the dim, old woods afford
The Sanctuary of the Lord!
The Holy Spirit breathes around—
That forest glade is sacred ground,
Nor temple built with hands could vie
In glory with its majesty.
| [Poems by Hale in] The opal | |