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Oh! keep the morning of His incarnation,
HAIL! old patrician trees, so great and good,
Where the poetic birds rejoice,
And for their quiet nests and plenteous food
Here Nature does a house for me erect-
Who those fond artists doth despise,
That can the fair and living tree neglect,
Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
With all the wanton boughs dispute,
And the more tuneful birds to both replying,
Nor be myself too mute.
BUT where to find that happiest spot below,
COME, Anna, come! the morning dawns,
Come let us seek the dewy lawns,
And watch the early lark arise;
While Nature, clad in vesture gay,
Hails the loved return of day.
Our flocks that nip the scanty blade
And watch the silver clouds above,
Come, Anna! come! and bring thy lute,
And then at eve, when silence reigns,
PAUL AND SILAS.
'Tis night-the heavens are calm and clear,
Whence then those strains, which rise and fall
Do joyous guests in banquet-hall
Yet weave the dance and raise the song
Is't, then, some solemn festal night,
When holy worshippers prepare With choral strain and sacred rite
To mingle in the house of prayer? No-all is mute and lonely there,
No votary breathes the vow divine, And where the torch is wont to glare,
Nought but the silver moonbeams shine.
PAUL AND SILAS.
Go, wend thy way where dark and grim
Though man with cruel zeal applies
Fetter and scourge, both, both are vain ; Through prison-gloom the spirit flies, Unconscious or of stripes or chain.
Oh! what to them is prison gloom,
The strong man's might, the oppressor's pride, If, in the darkling hour of doom,
Omnipotence be on their side?
"Tis but the tempest to outride,
Then, welcome heaven's eternal calm! 'Tis but a few more pangs to bide,
And then, the victor's crown and palm.