THE SUN. But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colored air, And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe! The vegetable world is also thine, Parent of Seasons! who the pomp precede That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. A common hymn; while 'round thy beaming car, Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, Herbs, flowers, and fruits; till, kindling at thy touch, JAMES THOMSON, 1700-1749. * THE SUN. Thou lookest on the earth, and then it smiles; Thy light is hid, and all things droop and mourn. Laughs the wild sea around her budding isles, When through their heaven thy changing car is borne; Thou wheel'st away thy flight, the woods are shorn Of all their waving locks, and storms awake All that was once so beautiful is torn By the wild winds which plow the lonely lake, And in their maddening rush the crested mountains shake. The earth lies buried in a shroud of snow; Of all the power that brooded in the urn Of their chill'd frames, and then they proudly spurn All bands that would confine, and give to air Hues, fragrance, shapes of beauty, till they burn, When, on a dewy morn, thou dartest there Rich waves of gold to wreathe with fairer light the fair. The vales are thine; and when the touch of spring They glitter as the glancing swallow's wing Dashes the water in his winding flight, And leaves behind a wave that crumbles bright, And widens outward to the pebbled shore The vales are thine; and when they wake from night, The dews that bend the grass-tips, twinkling o'er Their soft and oozy beds, look upward, and adore. The hills are thine; they catch the newest beam, Flow and give brighter tints than ever bud, When a clear sheet of ice reflects a blaze Of many twinkling gems, as every gloss'd bough plays. Thine are the mountains, where they purely lift Dazzling, but cold; thy farewell glance looks there; Girt round them, as a rosy belt, they bear JAMES G. PERCIVAL. DELIGHT IN GOD. I love, and have some cause to love, the earth; She is my tender nurse; she gives me food. I love the air; her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me; I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature My careful purveyor; she provides me store; To heaven's high city I direct my journey, Without thy presence, earth gives no reflection; Without thy presence, heav'n's itself no pleasure; If not possess'd, if not enjoy'd in thee, Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares; In having all things, and not thee, what have I ? I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be FRANCIS QUARLES, 1592-1664. NOON. FROM THE SPANISH. The sun, 'midst shining glory now concealed Upon heaven's highest seat, Darts straightway down upon the parched field, And on revolving noonday calls, that he His flushed and glowing face May show the world, and, rising from the sea, The wandering wind now rests his weary wings, And, hushed in silence, broods; And all the vocal choir of songsters sings Among the whispering woods. And sweetly warbling on his oaten pipe, The herd-boy leads along his flock of sheep Where shepherd youths and maids in secret bowers, In song and feast unite In joyful band, to pass the sultry hours The sturdy hunter, bathed in moisture well, Beneath an oak-tree's boughs, Beside his faithful dog, his sentinel, Now yields him to repose. All, all is calm, is silent. O how sweet, On this enameled ground, At ease recumbent, from its flowery seat, To cast your eyes around! The busy bee, that round your listening ear The faithful turtles, perched on oak-trees near, And ever in the distance her sweet song While the hoar forest's echoing glades prolong And 'midst the grass slow creeps the rivulet, In whose bright limpid stream The blue sky and the world of boughs are met, Mirrored in one bright gleam. And of the elm the hoar and silvery leaves, The slumbering winds scarce blow, Which, pictured in the bright and tremulous waves, Follow their motion slow. These airy mountains, and this fragrant seat, Bright with a thousand flowers; These interwoven forests, where the heat Is tempered in their bowers! The dark umbrageous woods, the dense array Perchance the town, which, in the glow of day, Like crystal light appears! These cooling grottoes! O retirement blest! Within thy calm abode My mind alone can from her troubles rest, With solitude and God. |