Part 3 (1/2)

Should man, with microscopic eye, View the details of Nature's plan, Into each nook and corner pry, And needlessly the hidden scan?

Should he inspect each bud and flow'r, With close, unmeant, uncall'd-for look, And, by his a.n.a.lytic pow'r, Dissolve each charm of vale or brook?

Should he resolve the rainbow's hues, Into their prime and simple forms, And thus the charm dispel, unloose, Which gladdens us, amid the storms?

Should he, with keen, inquiring look, Insist on knowing, seeing all, Which nature made a sealed book On this, our strange, terrestrial ball,

'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed, When we should pry, and when refrain, But science surely has its need Of knowledge gain'd, and also pain.

The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf, Have surely charms we all can tell, And a.n.a.lysing brings to grief, The charms we felt, and knew so well.

Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild, Could view the rainbow in the sky, And, tho' in science but a child, He saw with gladden'd heart, and eye.

And so, I apprehend, that we Should oft restrain our thoughts and sight, Nor delve too far, nor try to see, With deeper, but more painful light.

NIAGARA FALLS.

Niagara, thou mighty flood.

I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar, And on the frightful verges stood, That overhang thy rocky sh.o.r.e.

I've sailed o'er surging waves below, And view'd the rainbow's colour'd light, And felt the spray, thy waters throw, When leaping, with resistless might.

I've seen the rapids in their course, Like madden'd, living things rush on, With wild, unhesitating force, To where thy mighty chasms yawn.

And there to take the awful leap, And fall, with hoa.r.s.e and sullen roar, Into th' unfathomable deep, Which rolleth on, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand, Thou fill'st human souls with awe, For thee, and for that mighty Hand, Which maketh thee, by nature's law.

Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming ma.s.s Of water, plunging, roaring down, But so are we, yea, we surpa.s.s Thee, and we wear a n.o.bler crown.

Thy mighty head is crowned with foam, And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue; Our earthly forms--our present home-- Are insignificant to you.

But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou, Tho' puny be our forms to thine, These forms possess, yea, even now, A spark, a ray of life divine.

Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl Thyself to roaring depths below, And let the mists of ages curl, And generations come and go.

But know, stupendous wonder, know, Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod Of Him, who lets thy waters flow; Thy Maker, but our Friend and G.o.d.

Thy rocks _shall_ crumble, fall they must; Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more, But we shall rise, e'en from the dust, To live upon another sh.o.r.e.

A SABBATH MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.

'Tis morning, and the meadows yet, Are wet with gracious drops of dew.

Each blade of gra.s.s, and flow'r, is set With sparkling gems of richest hue.

The sun, with rising glory, sheds A radiance, that none divine, Save those, who early leave their beds, When glist'ning dew-drops briefly s.h.i.+ne.