WE live not in our moments or our years —

The Present we fling from us like the rind

Of some sweet Future, which we after find Bitter to taste, or bind that in with fears, And water it beforehand with our tears

Vain tears for that which never may arrive: Meanwhile, the joy whereby we ought to live, Neglected or unheeded, disappears. Wiser it were to welcome and make ours Whate'er of good, though small, the present

brings; Kind greetings, sunshine, song of birds, and

With a child's pure delight in little things';
And of the griefs unborn to rest secure,
Knowing that mercy ever will endure.


1 “ Though sometimes small evils, like invisible insects, inflict great pain, yet the chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex one, and in prudently cultivating an under-growth of small pleasures.” Sharp's Letters and Essays.

“ Thrice happy is he who acquires the habit of looking every where for excellences and not for faults — whether in art or in nature - whether in a picture, a poem, or a character. Like the bee in its flight, he extracts the sweet and not the bitter wherever he goes; till his mind becomes a dwellingplace for all that is beautiful, receiving, as it were by instinct, what is congenial to itself, and rejecting every thing else almost as unconsciously as if it was not there.” -- Rogers.



Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc!
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
Risest from forth the silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
0 dread and silent mount! I gaz'd upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranc'd in prayer,
I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are list’ning to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blend’ing with my

Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy ;
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfus’d
Into the mighty vision passing — then,
As in her natural form, swellid vast to heaven.

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstacy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn !

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : Companion of the morning-star at dawn,

Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald : wake, wake, and utter praise !
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill’d thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents? fiercely glad !
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shelter'd, and the same for ever ?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?
And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest;

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! Silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full moon ?

Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living

flowers Of loveliest blue?, spread garlands at your feet ! God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God; God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest !

i Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources at the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides.

3 Within a few paces of the glaciers, the gentian grows in immeuse numbers.

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ;
Ye signs and wonders of the element !
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !

Thou too, hoar mount, with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast-
Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling, with dim eyes suffus’d with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me,— Rise, O ever, rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit, thron'd among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God!



Yes, Salem, thou shalt rise : thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound his chast’ning hand has made ;
Shall judge the proud oppressor's ruthless sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and cast his cords away."
Then on your tops shall deathless verdure spring ?,
Break forth, ye mountains, and ye valleys, sing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's scorn;
The sultry sands shall tenfold harvests yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.

| Psalm ii. 3. and cvii. 16.


zekiel, xxxvi,

E'en now, perhaps, wide waving o'er the land,
The mighty Angel lifts his golden wand;
Courts the bright vision of descending power,
Tells ev'ry gate, and measures every tower 2 ;
And chides the tardy seals that yet detain
Thy Lion, Judah, from his destin'd reign.

And who is he? the vast, the awful form 3,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandald with the storm ?
A western cloud around his limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun his head.
To highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land ;
And bark! his voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice, that time shall be no more!

Lo! cherub hands the golden courts prepare, Lo! thrones are set, and every saint is there 4 ; Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway, The mountains worship, and the isles obey; Nor sun, nor moon they need,- nor day, nor night;God is their temple, and the Lamb their lights; And shall not Israel's sons exulting come, Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home? On David's throne shall David's offspring reign, And the dry bones be warm with life again.“ Hark! white-robd crowds their deep hosannas raise, And the hoarse flood repeats the sound of praise; Ten thousand harps attune their mystic song, Ten thousand thousand saints the strain prolong; “ Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to save, Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!”


1 Rev. xxi. 10.
8 Rev. x.
5 Rev. xxi. 22.

Ezekiel, xl.
• Rev. xx.
6 Ezekiel, xxxvii.


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