Chase the vapours, mists, and clouds ;
Chase the midnight shadows far;
O! put off thy dusky shrouds,
Light of beauty! Morning Star!
Type of that prophetic light,
Which foreshadow'd Judah's Son,
Soon should rise o'er pagan night;
Soon the gospel glories dawn.
Light of beauty, Gem of worth!
Was it thee, whose lucid face,
At the great Messiah's birth,
Led the Magi to the place?
Guide our wandering feet to Him;
Bid the eye of faith look up :
Time, at best, is twilight dim,
Life the pilgrimage of hope.
Here, on conflict's watches dark,
Slowly dawns the morn of love;
O! direct us, by thy spark,
To thy Parent Star above.
Oft the shepherd, by his fold,
Watching thy approaching car,
Sees it, o'er the ocean roll'd—
Light of beauty! Morning Star!
Star of Morning! o'er the deep,
Tread thy blue ethereal path;
Rouse us from the bed of sleep;
Shine upon the bed of death.
Soon this mortal shall resign,
And the immortal part remove;
Yet the just, like thee, shall shine,
In the firmament of love.
Then shall He, whose self is light,
Chasing sorrow's gloom away,
Give us for Probation's night,
Joy's eternity of day.
TO A DYING INFANT.
Sleep, little baby! sleep!
Not in thy cradle bed
Not on thy mother's breast,
Henceforth shall be thy rest,
But with the quiet dead.
Yes, with the quiet dead,
Baby, thy rest shall be,
Oh, many a weary wight,
Weary of life and light,
Would fain lie down with thee !
Flee, little tender nursling!
Flee to thy grassy nest,
There, the first flowers shall blow,
The first pure flake of snow
Shall fall upon thy breast,
Peace! peace! the little bosom
Labours with shortening breath;
Peace! peace! that tremulous sigh
Speaks his departure nigh-
Those are the damps of death.
I've seen thee in thy beauty,
A thing all health and glee;
But never then, wert thou
So beautiful, as now
Baby thou seem'st to me.
Thine upturned eyes glazed over
Like harebells wet with dew,
Already veiled and hid,
By the convulsed lid,
Their pupils darkly blue !
Thy little mouth half open,
Thy soft lip quivering,
As if, like summer air,
Ruffling the rose-leaves, there
Thy soul were fluttering!
Mount up, immortal essence!
Young spirit! hence ! depart!
And is this death? dread thing!
If such thy visiting,
How beautiful thou art!
God took thee in his mercy,
A lamb untask'd-untriedHe fought the fight for thee, He won the victory
And thou art sanctified!
The little arms, that clasped me,
The innocent lips, that prest,
Would they have been as pure
Till now, as when of yore,
I lull'd thee on my breast?
Now like a dewdrop, shrined
Within a crystal stone,
Thou'rt safe in heaven my dove !
Safe with the Source of love,
The everlasting One!
And, when the hour arrives,
From flesh, that sets me free,
Thy spirit may await,
The first at heaven's gate,
To meet and welcome me !
THE BIRD LET LOOSE.
THE bird, let loose in Eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.
But high she shoots, through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me, God, from every care,
And stain of passion free,
Aloft through virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud- -no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings.
TO THE RAINBOW.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky,
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me, what thou art.
Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the world and heaven.
Can all, that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold,
Hid in thy radiant bow?
When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!
And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told, why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou did'st shine,
How came the world's grey fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign!
And when its yellow lustre shined
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first made anthem rang
On earth deliver'd from the deep
And the first poet sang!
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye,
Unraptured greet thy beam :
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme!
The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshen'd fields,
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down!
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.
For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.
GO, WHEN THE MORNING SHINETH.
Go, when the morning shineth,
Go, when the noon is bright,
Go, when the eve declineth,
Go in the hush of night.
Go with pure mind and feeling,
Fling earthly thoughts away,
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.
Remember all, who love thee,
All, who are loved by thee:
Pray too for those, who hate thee,
If any such there be.
Then for thyself in meekness
A blessing humbly claim,
And link with each petition,
Thy great Redeemer's name.
Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee
Ín solitude to pray,
Should holy thoughts come o'er thee,
When friends are round thy way;
Even then, the silent breathing
Of thy spirit, raised above,
Will reach his throne of glory,
Who is mercy, truth, and love.
Oh, not a joy or blessing,
With this, can we compare,
The power, that he hath given us,
To pour our souls in prayer!
Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness,
Before his footstool fall,
And remember in thy gladness,
His grace, who gives thee all.
MORN is the time to wake-
The eyelids to unclose-
Spring from the arms of sleep, and break
The fetters of repose;
Walk at the dewy morn abroad,
And hold sweet fellowship with God,
Morn is the time to pray-
How lovely and how meet
To send our earliest thoughts away,
Up to the mercy-seat!
Ambassadors, for us to claim
A blessing in our Master's name !
Morn is the time to sing-
How charming 'tis to hear
The mingling notes of nature ring
In the delighted ear!
And with that swelling anthem raise
The soul's fresh matin song of praise.
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