66 Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forests sounding like the sea, Where the woodlands bend to see The bending heavens below. "There is a forest where the din A mighty river roars between, Sees the heavens all black with sin,— "Athwart the swinging branches cast, Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; Pallid lips say, 'It is past! We can return no more!' "Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, Be these henceforth thy theme." HYMN TO THE NIGHT. Ασπασίη, τρίλλιστος. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! A PSALM OF LIFE. I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,- O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night. A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 9 Act,—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Let us then be up and doing, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, “Shall I have nought that is fair ?” saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." C |