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There's a gladness of heart in all human things,
The eye is bright and the voice is sweet,
Love is bathed in the deepest springs,
Where the mortal's life and the spirit's meet:
One happy song from the green earth swells,
The voice of hamlets and peopled dells-
"Tis the holy spirit of nature still,
Doing the Lord of Creation's will.
A mother is singing her babe to rest,
With the song of her quiet soul-
The fondest hopes that are in her breast,
An angel would not control-
But her heart is stirred with her own deep prayer,
And the blessed thought that's settling there,
With the voice of a spirit sent from thence,
Where hearts are blessed for their innocence.
An aged man hath come ling'ring by
The home of his earliest youth,
And a vision passes before his eye
Full of delight and truth-
There's a promise made of some sweet return,
And he feels his heart with the blessing burn;
For a spirit comes from heaven to tell,
In heaven with all he loved 'tis well.
There are children round their father's bed,
And his last farewell is given-
There's joy in their grief-a blessing shed,
At once from their Sire and Heaven-
Deep is the peace that reigns around,
Where the faithful in his faith is crowned,
For the holiest of holies is o'er his bed-
The Spirit of Him who wakes the dead.
Oh! 'tis the one great Spirit in all,
Working His various will-
The bosom is blessed that hears His call-
The ocean hears and is still :
The summer is His with its swelling bloom,
The glory His of the martyr's tomb;
He is the life of the world-the breath
Of the pure in soul, and the true in death.
O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,
Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst out-lasted
Bleak Winter's force that made thy blossom dry;
For he being amorous on that lovely dye
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But kill'd, alas, and then bewail'd his fatal bliss.
For since grim Aquilo his charioteer
By boisterous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it touch'd his deity full near,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infámous blot
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was
So mounting up in icy pearled car,
Through middle empire of the freezing air
He wander'd long, till thee he spied from far:
There ended was his quest, there ceas'd his care.
Down he descended from his snow-soft chair,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous'd thy virgin soul from her fair biding place.
Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate:
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand,
Whilome did slay his dearly loved mate,
Young Hyacinth born on Eurota's strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower:
Alack that so to change thee Winter had no power.
Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,
Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tomb;
Could Heav'n for pity, thee so strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that shew'd thou wast divine.
Resolve me then, oh Soul most surely blest!
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where'er thou hoverest,
Whether above that high first-moving sphere,
Or in th' Elysian fields (if such there were),
Oh say me true, if thou wert mortal wight,
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.
Wert thou some star which from the ruin'd roof
Of shak'd Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which careful Jove in Nature's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late Earth's sons besiege the wall
Of sheeny Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head?
Or wert thou that just maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth,
And cam'st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling youth?
Or that crown'd matron sage, white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav'nly brood
Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good?
Or wert thou of the golden-winged host,
Who having clad thyself in human weed,
To Earth from thy prefixed seat didst post,
And after short abode fly back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire?
But oh! why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy Heav'n-lov'd innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black Perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering Pestilence,
To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.
Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,
Her false imagin❜d loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do, he will an offspring give
That till the world's last end shall make thy name
"THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS."
BY THE REV. T. DALE.
JAIRUS heard, and doubt and fear
Passed from his wondering breast away;
Nor trembled in his eye the tear,
Nor shook his frame with sudden start,
Nor aught more quickly throbbed his heart,
When now they meet the sad array
Which told at length that all was o'er,
And he a parent now no more!
Unmoved, the pageantry of death
He viewed, and heard the minstrel train
Their melody of sadness breathe;-
The father could not doubt again,
Not when, with tears of fond regret,
Encountering friends and kinsmen said,
Thy daughter even now is dead,-
Why troublest thou the Master yet?"
Oh, no! he could not thus forget
All he had seen, and felt, and heard :-
Yet Jesus spake one soothing word
To calm his fears, and fix his faith,-
Then led him to the scene of Death.
A mingled crowd had gathered near,
By friendship or by pity led,
To mourn a maid so justly dear,
And with the father's blend their tear.
'Give place!' th' advancing prophet said,-
"The maiden sleeps, she is not dead!"
But they had gazed upon that form,
Which, calm and lovely as it lay,
Was but a mass of lifeless clay,