How still and calm! what fairer scene e'er met The eye of mortal short of Paradise? The quiet lake is like a mirror set In richest green where sunset loves to see
Itself arrayed in crimson, pink and gold. And e'en the proud old mountain bows his head Shaggy with hemlocks, and appears well pleased To view so grand a form reflected there.
Hark! o'er the polished surface how the loons Call to each other, waking echoes wild From crag and cliff, and waking in my heart Sweet memories of other days and years
When health was on my cheek, and hope and love O'er all the future wove one iris bright. Ah, little prophets, do you then predict A rainy morrow? By yon crimson west
I doubt your warnings; so in truth it seems Does yonder farmer who, with shouldered scythe From meadows fragrant with the new-mown hay, Goes whistling homeward, glad to seek repose
Until another sun shall call him forth, To gather into barns the winter's store Of food provided for the gentle king That faintly lowing from the pastures come
Scented with herbage, giving promise fair Of pails o'erflowing with a sweeter drink Than ever gleamed in the inebriate's bowl. Now o'er the landscape signs of twilight creep,
And sounds that tell of night — sounds that I love: The hooting of the owl, the tree-frog's cry By distance mellowed; and — more distant still — I hear the barking of the village dogs.
The breath of evening whispering‘ mid the pines, And deepening shadows, bid me homeward turn; And yet I linger — for I seem a part Of lake and mountain, meadow, tree and sky,—
And realize how sweet a thing it is To lay my heart so close to Nature's own That I can feel its throbbing, while each pulse Responsive beats, and o'er my being steals
A rapturous calm like that out parents felt When to the bowers of Eden they repaired, And praised their Maker seen in all his works. Author of nature! Source of life and light!
Almighty Father! let me praise thee too. This lovely world is thine; yon moon and stars That now begin to usher in the night Are but the outposts of unnumbered spheres
That march in order round thy dazzling throne, And chant thy praises in perpetual song. All these are thine, for thou hast made them all; And I am thine! I thank thee, Lord of lords,
King of the Universe, Creator, God, That while in part I realize thy power I know it has an equal in the love Which bowed the heavens and consecrated earth
When the Messiah came to save mankind, And in its proper orbit reinstate A fallen world, which shall one day become The fairest‘ mid the sisterhood of orbs,
The most renowned because the dearest bought,— The best beloved, because the ransom given Was all that God omnipotent could pay!
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