Part 9 (2/2)

What though thy form I ne'er beheld, Yet fancy oft would trace Expression, features, look, with all Their witchery or grace.

What though thy voice were never heard, I felt its melting tone, That came like some mysterious spell, Unbidden and alone!

I saw thee in the winged beam, First-born of morning light; In darkness oft I saw thee still, A vision of the night.

And though unheard, unseen,--thy name The same sweet image brings, And fancy o'er the mimic scene, Her own bright halo flings.

Oh who shall tell the wondrous glimpse Imagination threw, As though past, present, and to come Were open to her view!

As though the hidden sense had now, From earthly dross refin'd, Pierc'd this material and left Mortality behind!

And is not this a ray that breaks, With unquench'd potency, Forth from the Omnipotent,--a light From his omniscient eye?

A spark from that eternal mind, First breath'd into our breast; An image of the Infinite, On finite pow'rs impress'd.

And though debas'd, degraded, dim, From heav'n's own light they s.h.i.+ne, Imagination, fancy, thought, Their origin divine!

THE BIRCH

ON THE WORCESTERs.h.i.+RE BEACON, GREAT MALVERN.

It stood alone on the green hill side, That fairy birchen tree, Its yellow leaves in the autumn breeze Were flutt'ring heavily.

The early frosts brought those pale leaves down, Ere the storms of winter came; And stripp'd and bare stood my birchen tree, But a wreck to tell its name.

I pa.s.s'd the place when the streams were still, When the earth was chang'd to stone, On the leafless boughs a h.o.a.ry show'r, As a spell of heav'n was thrown.

The glistening sprays by the wind were stirr'd, Like a banner gently furl'd; It seem'd, in its pure and peerless grace, A gift from another world.

And even thus in our inner life, When the early frosts are come, When the greenness has pa.s.s'd from life away, And the music of earth is dumb;

'Tis then that the light and hope of heav'n, O'er the lonely heart are flung, And our spirit knows a holier joy Than that to which erst it clung.

And year by year is the type renew'd, That our wayward hearts may learn, There is peace for the stripp'd and wearied ones, Who in faith to their Father turn.

1841.

ASTROLOGY.

'Tis said that in the burning stars The fate of man is writ: Yet quail not, Christian, at the sign; By LOVE those lamps are lit.

1848.

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