 | Love's Last Labour Not Lost |  |
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ROBERT CRUIKSHANK.
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MAY-DAY OFFERING.
When, by Religion's sacred light
Creation opens to my sight,
Methinks, surveying all around,
I tread upon enchanted ground.
Creation opens to my sight,
Methinks, surveying all around,
I tread upon enchanted ground.
For, view'd by her celestial beam,
The heavens more grand and glorious seem;
And, borrowing beauty from above,
Earth looks more fair, and full of love.
The heavens more grand and glorious seem;
And, borrowing beauty from above,
Earth looks more fair, and full of love.
The feather'd songsters, as they rise,
More joyfully salute the skies;
The woodland-stream's meandering flow
With sweeter music murmurs low.
More joyfully salute the skies;
The woodland-stream's meandering flow
With sweeter music murmurs low.
A holier calm pervades the deep,
Its rippling waves in sunshine sleep;
And in the distance sea and sky
In blended beauty melt and die.
Its rippling waves in sunshine sleep;
And in the distance sea and sky
In blended beauty melt and die.
Responsive to some inward voice,
All Nature seems to cry, “Rejoice!”
And some divinity to bring
New life to every living thing!
All Nature seems to cry, “Rejoice!”
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New life to every living thing!
The everlasting mountains more
Majestically seem to soar,—
The rugged rocks, sublimely stern,
With haughtier brow the waves to spurn.
Majestically seem to soar,—
The rugged rocks, sublimely stern,
With haughtier brow the waves to spurn.
And now upon the landscape fall
Night's sable shadows, like a pall;
And moon and stars new awe inspire
Lit by that flame of heavenly fire!
Night's sable shadows, like a pall;
And moon and stars new awe inspire
Lit by that flame of heavenly fire!
Frail man! for whom these wonders are;
(Thyself more wondrous! fallen star!)
What canst thou do?—Nor less, nor more,
In dust and ashes, but adore.
(Thyself more wondrous! fallen star!)
What canst thou do?—Nor less, nor more,
In dust and ashes, but adore.
| Love's Last Labour Not Lost | |