The hills where health with health agrees, And the wise soul expels disease. There lives no man of Nature's worth And to thine eye the vast skies fall, On clucking hens and prating fools, Surely now will the curtain rise, But the curtain doth not rise, And Nature has miscarried wholly Into failure, into folly." Alas! thine is the bankruptcy, Blessed Nature so to see. Come, lay thee in my soothing shade, And heal the hurts which sin has made. I see thee in the crowd alone; I will be thy companion. Quit thy friends as the dead in doom, Let the starred shade that nightly falls And the bell of beetle and of bee That flows in streams, that breathes in wind; God hid the whole world in thy heart. 'Hearken once more! I will tell thee the mundane lore. ; Hitherto all things fast abide, But the substances survive. From the heart of God proceeds, Once slept the world an egg of stone, And pulse, and sound, and light was none; And God said, "Throb!" and there was motion And the vast mass became vast ocean. Onward and on, the eternal Pan, Who layeth the world's incessant plan, But forever doth escape, Like wave or flame, into new forms Of gem, and air, of plants, and worms. Yesterday was a bundle of grass. Pouring of his power the wine The world is the ring of his spells, And the play of his miracles. As he giveth to all to drink, Thus or thus they are and think. With one drop sheds form and feature; The third adds heat's indulgent spark; The fourth gives light which eats the dark; And conscious Law is King of kings. Or the stars of eternity? Alike to him the better, the worse, The glowing angel, the outcast corse. He is the heart of every creature; He is the meaning of each feature; Than all it holds more deep, more high.' MONADNOC. THOUSAND minstrels woke within me, 'Up! If thou knew'st who calls To twilight parks of beech and pine, O'erlooks the surging landscape's swell! Let not unto the stones the Day Her lily and rose, her sea and land display. Read the celestial sign! Lo! the south answers to the north; Bookworm, break this sloth urbane; A greater spirit bids thee forth Than the gray dreams which thee detain. Beckon thee to their arcades; Youth, for a moment free as they, Ere yet arrives the wintry day I heard, and I obeyed, Assured that he who made the claim, Was not to be gainsaid. |