I would that thus, when I shall see HYMN OF THE CITY. Not in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see And sunny vale the present Deity, Or only hear His voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty !-here, amidst the crowd, With everlasting murmur deep and loud, 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, And lights their inner homes; For them Thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givèst them the stores Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. Thy Spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; (Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng) Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine The quiet of that moment too is Thine : The vast and helpless City while it sleeps. TO THE NORTH STAR. The sad and solemn Night Hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires : Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires; All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go. Day too hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, And thou dost see them rise, Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set. Alone, in thy cold skies, Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet; Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train, There, at morn's rosy birth, Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air; Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. Alike beneath thine eye The deeds of darkness and of light are done : High tow'rds the star-lit sky Towns blaze; the smoke of battle blots the sun; The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud; And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. On thine unaltering blaze The half-wreck'd mariner, his compass lost, Fixes his steady gaze, And steers undoubting to the friendly coast; And they who stray in perilous wastes by night Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right. And therefore bards of old, Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood, Did in thy beams behold A beauteous type of that Unchanging Good, That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray The voyager of Time should shape his heedful way. THE THIRD OF NOVEMBER. 1861. Softly breathes the West wind beside the ruddy forest, Taking leaf by leaf from the branches where he flies; Sweetly streams the sunshine this third day of November, Through the golden haze of the quiet autumn skies. Tenderly the season has spared the grassy meadows, Spared the petted flowers that the old world gave the new : Spared the autumn rose and the garden's group of pansies, Late-blown dandelions and periwinkles blue. On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungather'd; Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Like this kindly season may life's decline come o'er me! Dreary is the time when the flowers of earth are wither'd ; Dreary are the years when the eye can look no longer THOMAS CARLYLE. 1795-1881. ADIEU! Let Time and Chance combine, combine! Let Time and Chance combine! The fairest love from heaven above, That love of yours, was mine, My Dear! That love of yours was mine. The Past is fled and gone, and gone : If nought but pain to me remain, I'll fare in memory on, I'll fare in memory on. My dear! The saddest tears must fall, must fall : The saddest tears must fall: In weal or woe, in this world below, I love you ever and all, My Dear! I love you ever and all. A long road full of pain, of pain : A long road full of pain : One soul, one heart, sworn ne'er to part,— We ne'er can meet again, My Dear! We ne'er can meet again. Hard fate will not allow, allow; Hard fate will not allow : We blessed were as the angels are : Adieu for ever now, Adieu for ever now! My Dear! JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS. 1794-1852. HOUR AFTER HOUR. Hour after hour departs, Recklessly flying; The golden time of our hearts Is fast a-dying : O, how soon it will have faded! Joy droops, with forehead shaded; When I am gone, O wear Sweet smiles! thy dwelling And near where some rivulet lingers Thy spirit should steep its wing |