"And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." JAMES BEATTIE. The Strife. THE wish that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and nature then at strife, That nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life, That I, considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds, And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear I falter where I firmly trod; And, falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs, That slope through darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. ALFRED TENNYSON. The Slave Singing at Midnight. LOUD he sang the psalm of David! Sang of Israel's victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. In that hour when night is calmest, Sang he from the Hebrew psalmist, AN OLD POET TO SLEEP. 765 Left by Pactolus; some to climb up higher, Wink at a judge, and he the wink returns. Nor seeking shelter there from sun or storm. |