Imatges de pÓgina

crowned with succéss? Can even the husbandman, who has the promise of God that seed-time and harvest shall not fail, look forward with assured confidence to the expected increase of his fields? In these, and in all similar cases, our resolution to act can be founded on probability alone.

To the Ursa Major.


WITH what a stately and majestic step
That glorious constellation of the north
Treads its eternal circle! going forth
Its princely way amongst the stars in slow
And silent brightness. Mighty one! all hail!
I joy to see thee, on thy glowing path,
Walk, like some stout and girded giant
Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot
Disdains to loiter on its destined way.
The other tribes forsake their midnight track,
And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave;
But thou dost never close thy burning eye,
Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on,
While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds
Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.
The near horizon tempts to rest in vain.
Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit
Thy long-appointed watch, but, sleepless still,
Dost guard the fixed light of the universe,
And bid the north forever know its place.


Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust,
Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God
Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven,
And echoed from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, thy voice.

Joined the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,

Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd

Of splendors that enrich his firmament.

As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.

Ages have rolled their course, and time grown gray; The earth has gathered to her womb again,

And yet again, the myriads, that were born
Of her uncounted, unremembered tribes.

The seas have changed their beds; th' eternal hills
Have stooped with age; the solid continents
Have left their banks; and man's imperial works -
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung
Their haughty honors in the face of heaven,
As if immortal - have been swept away,
Shattered and mouldering, buried and forgot.
But time has shed no dimness on thy front,

Nor touched the firmness of thy tread; youth, strength,
And beauty still are thine as clear, as bright,
As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth,
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
Th' eternal chorus of eternal Love.

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I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light, Undimmed, unquenched, just as I see it now,Has issued from those dazzling points, through years That go back far into eternity. Exhaustless flood! forever spent, renewed Forever! Yea, and those refulgent drops, Which now descend upon my lifted eye, Left their far fountain twice three years ago. While those winged particles, whose speed outstrips The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth Compassed its tedious circuit round and round, And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld

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Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve!
So vast the void through which their beams descend!

Yea, glorious lamps of God! He may have quenched Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach This distant planet. Messengers still come Laden with your far fire, and we may seem To see your lights still burning; while their blaze But hides the black wreck of extinguished realms, Where anarchy and darkness long have reigned.

Yet what is this, which to th' astonished mind Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought Confounds? A span, a point, in those domains Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight Embraces all at once; yet each from each Recedes as far as each of them from earth; And every star from every other burns No less remote. From the profound of heaven, Untravelled even in thought, keen, piercing rays Dart through the void, revealing to the sense Systems and worlds unnumbered. Take the glass And search the skies. The opening skies pour down Upon your gaze thick showers of sparkling fire


Stars, crowded, thronged, in regions so remote,
That their swift beams - the swiftest things that be
Have travelled centuries on their flight to earth.
Earth, sun, and nearer constellations, what
Are ye, amid this infinite extent

And multitude of God's most infinite works?

And these are suns!-vast, central, living fires, Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds,

That wait as satellites upon their power,

And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul,
And meditate the wonder! Countless suns

Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds!
Worlds, in whose bosoms living things rejoice,

And drink the bliss of being from the fount
Of all-pervading Love. What mind can know,
What tongue can utter, all their multitudes?
Thus numberless in numberless abodes!

Known but to thee, blessed Father! Thine they are,
Thy children, and thy care; and none o'erlooked
Of thee! no, not the humblest soul that dwells
Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course
Amid the giant glories of the sky,

Like the mean mote that dances in the beam
Amongst the mirrored lamps, which fling
Their wasteful splendor from the palace wall.
None, none escape the kindness of thy care;
All compassed underneath thy spacious wing,
Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand.


Tell me, ye splendid orbs, as from your thrones
Ye mark the rolling provinces that own
Your sway, what beings fill those bright abodes?

How formed, how gifted? what their powers, their state,
Their happiness, their wisdom? Do they bear
The stamp of human nature? Or has God
Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms
And more celestial minds? Does Innocence
Still wear her native and untainted bloom?
Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad,
And sowed corruption in those fairy bowers?
Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?
And Slavery forged his chains? and Wrath, and Hate,
And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,
Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,

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And scattered woe where Heaven had planted joy?
Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen
And uncorrupt? existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin
Upon the heart, or weariness of life;
Hope never quenched, and age unknown,

And death unfeared; while fresh and fadeless youth
Glows in the light from God's near throne of love?

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Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair! Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds Unfold! No language? Everlasting light, And everlasting silence? - Yet the eye May read and understand. The hand of God Has written legibly what man may know THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines, Ineffable, unchangeable; and man, Bound to the surface of this pygmy globe, May know and ask no more. In other days, When death shall give th' encumbered spirit wings, Its range shall be extended; it shall roam, Perchance, amongst those vast, mysterious spheres, Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each, Familiar with its children - learn their laws, And share their state, and study and adore The infinite varieties of bliss

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And beauty by the hand of Power divine
Lavished on all its works. Eternity
Shall thus roll on with ever-fresh delight;
No pause of pleasure or improvement; world
On world still opening to th' instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time
But adding to its glories; while the soul,
Advancing ever to the Source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns,
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.

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