University of Virginia Library

Thanks, thanks, great God, part of my task is done:
The labourer in thy vineyard now may rest
Awhile, and if the thought, that I my best
Have essayed, can reward, then want I none!
The harp is now laid by, to gather tone
And strength, yet ready at the least behest
Of Love divine, to plead still for opprest
And suffering Humanity—this one
Great thought still prompts me, still doth it impart
High revelations: 'tis God's voice, and oft
It seems to come direct from up-aloft,
Now pealing with the thunder, till I start
Like prophet from his visions, and now soft
As a babe's lisp, pressed to his mother's heart!
Yet mightier far in his least cry, than in
The rolling thunder's heaven-cleaving din!

And, as my lyre first awoke for thee,
Sublimest spirit of Humanity!
With that best inspiration which must come
Fresh from the heart, and finds in all a home,
So let thy Spirit prompt the closing strain,
Be thou but here, all other Muse is vain.
The fabled hoof of Pegasus could make
The poet's fountain from the hard rock break,
But deeper, from Man's universal heart,
The living poesy of life must start!
The springhead, which hath never yet been slack,
And never will, while Man looks forward and looks back!

And now, like lark, soft-dropping from the sky,
My song must fold its wings, and silent lie,
As flower closing with the evening star;
But, though it soar, the Godlike is not far
From its low nest, in earth's familiar lap:
No, not one tittle further than the sap
Is from the blossom, or than God is from
The good man's heart! there is no need to roam,
For God is with us here, as up above,
Yea! in us, if we do but live by love!

Then feel it so, and the least flower, that lies
Before thee, will, in its own silent way,
So touch thee, that the tears shall fill thine eyes,
And thou wilt kneel down by its side to pray!
Yea! till the bird's least note, or babe's least cry,
Will wake up Nature's boundless harmony,
Now gliding o'er the earth, now pealing far
Through heaven's blue depths, from hymning star to star!
It is the heart first opens all the ear!
Then do but feel, and thou'lt not fail to hear!

Now lay my verse aside, and turn again
To week-day life, and, if not all in vain
I've struck the chords, then often wilt thou catch,
Amid its harshest sounds, some divine snatch
Of melody: some chance-note of my strain
Will, ever and anon, break on thine ear,
Recalling this poor verse, made haply dear
For Nature's sake, else little worth indeed:
Lasting through her, for that grows never sere
Which with her forms is linked! yes, thou shalt hear

Heart-reaching music, if thou wilt give heed,
Oft, like the cricket's chirrup, where thou ne'er
Would'st have expected it: first faint and dim,
But straight upswelling to a mighty hymn!
Strike but one note, and then, from earth and sky,
The whole deep music of Humanity
Shall follow: and, if I have done but this,
Enough is done, the rest thou canst not miss!
Then shalt thou hear far other lyre than mine,
A mightier lyre, and touched by hand divine,
Of which the hearts of all Men are the strings,
Filling the wide world with its murmurings!
This shalt thou hear, nay, with thy mortal hand
Shalt play thereon, and have at thy command
The stops of all its wondrous harmonies,
Thy heart the keynote, if thou touch it true!
But first thy own heart must be tuned anew—
And, to that end, to bright realities
Go turn these idle words: in actions true
Embody these poor thoughts, then wilt thou be
The poet, and not I: the wreath to thee
Is due, and from my most unworthy head
I pluck it, to adorn thy brows instead!
Yes, he, he is the poet, who can make
That life which was but poetry, who views
The World, like God, through love, clothed in such hues
As landscape ne'er from Fancy's touch could take!
The sense of human life, in its most low,
Unelevated state, to him brings no
Rude disenchantment of some cherished dream;
The more awake he is, the more 'twill seem
Sublime! he would not dream, not if he could:
For, to be quite awake, that is the good
Man's privilege alone!—awake unto
And with God, labouring His will to do;
This is to be awake in godlike wise,
And who would mix vain dreams, or close his eyes
But for a moment? since, awake, he has
Far more than dreams, realities which pass
Imagination—or where can he be
So well as in God's presence, or what see
More lovely than the waking eye looks on?
For God is in all things, 'tis Him alone
They glorify, and Him recall to mind!
The Heavens above declare Him, in their kind:
And, with their million conscious eyes, soft-bent
On Earth, with looks unutterable, vent
Their adoration; nor is Earth behind,
But proofs enough in her own self doth find,
In the least flower that decks her garment's hem,
As Heaven in its starry diadem!
And who would lose the consciousness of Him,
Though but for one least moment? then grows dim
The eye, and dull the heart, and we are blind,
Not seeing Him, whom all in all things find!
Awake thou then with thy whole heart and eye,
Feel and see nought but God eternally,
This is the godlike way of seeing, this
Likens thee unto God, and makes thine eye as His!