A FOREST HYMN. To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn-thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died A FOREST HYMN. Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, The boast of our vain race to change the form In music; thou art in the cooler breath Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, Passes; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 3 4 A FOREST HYMN. Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare My heart is awed within me when I think Lo! all grow old and die—but see again, There have been holy men who hid themselves |