Who 'twas from chaos vast decreed through space
The golden sun to run his brilliant race?
Who said that star of light a warmth should spread
O'er all, and charm the daisy from its bed;
On man should shine, and plant its gilding beams
On mountain tops, on valleys, and on streams;
Should deck sweet nature's face with fragrant flowers,
And form a sign that rain in fitful showers
Should fall, should colour give, and loveliness
Impart, and barren earth with fruitfulness
Make smile--that man an eye should have to see,
And mind to contemplate such mystery?
Say, heavenly Muse! and let my heart be strung
To tune His praise conjointly with my tongue;
And then, as questions such my mind delight,
Oh! tell me, too, who made the quiet night,
When stars and moon alike their speechless praise,
From night to morn their gratitude upraise;
What arm it is the planets holds in place,
That so around the sun each day they trace
A certain flight; the milky-way, should down
On
many her placid light, the earth to crown,
Direct? And if thy musings pure disclose
The fountain great from which all grandeur flows,
Forsake thy high-born lot, to earth descend,
And into mortal heart thy sense expend.-
Can knowledge great demand of thee thy song,
And science proud, her sister young and strong,
Proclaim the height, the depth, and distance too,
Thy sphere is placed in yon deep azure blue
From me? May be.-And can they move its stand,
And nearer draw it with their mighty hand,
The finite grasp the infinite in space,
And dare depaint the Omnipotent's own face?
The meteors trace, and proudly point from whence
The thunderbolts are hurled, with fire intense?
Whence comes His glittering sword, the lightning
At which kings, queens, age, youth, alike appalled,
Stand dumb, and bend in awe to power so vast,
That speaks and lo! the forests quake, a blast
So wonderful, uprooting all the trees?
Enough-the sun now warms the cooling breeze.
Oh say
Hold, mortal, stay thy mind's career,
The one that made, Him thou must revere;
How dar'st thou ask the mind Inscrutable,
And question so the great Immutable?
Pursue thy lot in humble thought, the rest
Give up to Him, who makes what is, the best;
Earthborn art thou, contentment is thy gain,
Seek not to know what may, alas! give pain;
But if thou'lt have the answer I would give,
Give heed, and listening thou, by listening, live,-
Where wert thou when the globe was dark and void,
When mortal sinners lived not, nor sin buoyed
Her melancholy fate? Who was it breathed
Into thy nostrils vile a life inwreathed
With happy days, the measure of thy earth
Spread forth, and though thou erredst much, a birth
Immortal promised thee through gate of death,
And now attends thy first and latest breath?
Who dug the deep foundations of the world,
Gave to the winds their wings so long unfurled?
Who makes the stars revolve?-the mighty sea
So full of might and solemn mystery,
Roll to the land? and then this judgment laid,-
"Thus far, but farther shall thy waves be stayed:"
Who gives the tender flower its angel-birth,
And scatters dewdrops on the glorious earth?
Is't chance? Could chance, unknown, unmeaning chance,
Create such wonder and magnificence?
Thou seest, too, yon brilliants in the sky,
Worlds stretching on through all infinity,
Could chance, howe'er, have placed them there so high?
And who the maker?-Nature's freak, 'tis said,
Might cause a thing so great: Consider, then,
For dust has mind when formed in shape of men ;
And man, as such, no inward spirit feels,
At most, no more than what an One reveals.
Did dust, or nature, call it what you will,
Its own form make, and then with motion fill
That form, and then an intellect bestow?
Believe me, God that nature made and you;
He is the Great, the Wonderful, the True.
(FROM A POEM, ENTITLED "GOOD NIGHT.")
PUT off, I say, all cant, religion there
Is in it none; what boots it if we preach
To others, and ourselves be cast away? why Hell
Itself can Scripture quote, and learned is
E'en in prophetic lore; men I have seen
Form cliques (and cursed are the hypocrites),
Who loud proclaim, by manner they assume,
"Stand off, stand off; I'm holier man than thou,"
In stout denial of His blessed word;
And, like mistaken priests, they picture forth
The vasty dismalness of woe, and all
The grisly horrors of the fearful black
Eternal depths of Hell, to terrify
Men's souls to God, instead of opening up
The glories rich, and happiness of Heaven,
Demonstrating the bliss of Him who drew
By love, not fear: "Come, follow me; my lambs
Feed;"-are His soft, persuasive words: depend
It's true that man will do for love, what he
Will never do for fear;-love forms the mind,
And teaches men their care. We can, if will,
Perceive around our homes, ourselves and kin,
A Gophar, Bildad, an Eliphaz too.
FOR all our friends we ought to pray.-God turned
Captivity of Job, when for his friends
He prayed; and if like him we weep repentant tears,
And mourn in ashes foul, the Lord might say,
"I do regret the wrongs thou hast endured,
And thou shalt ride upon the lofty hills
And places high reserved for those I love;
Thy grief to joy shall turn, thy wretchedness
To bliss."
A LADY favourably known as a contributor to several popular periodicals, from the pages of which we extract the following pretty effusions, whose touching simplicity and earnestness sufficiently prove that the sentiments expressed by the writer are genuine.
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