FOREST MUSINGS. THE green leaves waving in the morning galeThe little birds that 'mid their freshness sing— The wild-wood flowers so tender-eyed and paleThe wood-mouse sitting by the forest springThe morning dew-the wild bees' woodland hum, All woo my feet to Nature's forest home. 'Tis beautiful, from some tall craggy peak To watch the setting of the blessed sun— To mark his light grow weaker, and more weak, Till earth and sky be hid in twilight dun; 'Tis beautiful to watch the earliest ray, That sparkling comes across the ocean gray. But, oh! more beautiful-more passing sweet And gentle airs the bursting buds do kissWhere forest paths, and glades, and thickets green, Make up, of flowers and leaves, a world serene. To the pure heart, 'tis happiness to mark The tree-tops waving in the warm sunshine, To lie upon the forest's velvet grass, Oh! gloriously beautiful is earth! The desert wild, the mountain old and hoar, The sweeping ocean-wave, the pebbled shore, There I can muse, away from living men, Reclining peacefully on Nature's breast, Alone with God, within His forest fane, Here it can learn—will learn—to love all things A deep mysterious sympathy doth bind The human heart to nature's beauties all; We know not, guess not, of its force or kind; But that it is we know. When ill doth fall Upon us-when our hearts are sear'd and rivenWe'll seek the forest land for peace and heaven. ROBERT NICOLL, 1814-1837. THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. I PLACE an offering at Thy shrine, I yield Thee back Thy gifts again, The notice of Thine eyes. But if, by Thine adored decree, Thy will in all things I approve, Thy will in every state I love, And even in Thy frown. WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800. -Madame Guion. THE WORLD versus NATURE. THE world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! A So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850. ETERNAL PROVIDENCE. LIFE of the world! Immortal Mind! Father of all the human kind! Whose boundless eye, that knows no rest, Intent on nature's ample breast, Explores the space of earth and skies, To Thee my humble voice I raise ; Though Thou this transient being gave, e; In all Thy works Thy wisdom see, And still this poor contracted span, Through error's maze, through folly's night, To Thee my humble voice I raise; Forgive, while I presume to praise. |