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IN LONDON—BEFORE MR. CROPSEY'S “AUTUMN ON THE HUDSON.”
Forgot are summer and our English air;
Here is your Autumn, with her wondrous dyes;
Silent and vast your forests round us rise;
God, glorified in nature, fronts us there,
In his transcendent works, as heavenly fair
As when they first seem'd good unto His eyes.
See, what a brightness on the canvas lies!
Hues, seen not here, flash on us everywhere;
Radiance that nature here from us conceals,
Glory with which she beautifies decay
In your far world, this master's hand reveals,
Wafting our blest sight from dimm'd streets away,
With what rare power! to where our awed souls kneel
To Him who bade these splendours light the day.
| Poems
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