The works of God, above-below-
Within us and around,
Are pages in that book, to show
How God Himself is found.
The glorious sky, embracing all,
Is like the Father's love,
Wherewith encompassed, great and small
In peace and order move.
The dew of heaven is like His grace,
It steals in silence down;
But where it lights, the favoured place
By richest fruits is known.
Two worlds are ours: 't is only sin
Forbids us to descry
The mystic heaven and earth within,
Plain as the sea and sky.
Thou who hast given me eyes to see
And love this sight so fair,
Teach me, O Lord, to find out Thee,
And read Thee everywhere.
The lasses in the gardens
Show forth their heads of hair;
With rosiness and lightsomeness
A-chasing here and there;
And then they'll hear the birds, and stand,
And shade their eyes with lifted hand.
And then again they're off there,
As if their lovers came,
With giddiness and gladsomeness,
Like doves but newly tame.
Ah! light your cheek at nature, do,
And draw the whole world after you.
WELCOME, pale primrose! starting up between
Dead matted leaves of ash and oak, that strew
The every lawn, the wood; and peering through
'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green,
How much thy presence beautifies the ground!
How sweet thy modest, unaffected pride
Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm side!
And where thy fairy flowers in groups are found,
The schoolboy roams enchantedly along,
Plucking the fairest with a rude delight;
While the meek shepherd stops his simple song
To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight,
O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring
The welcome news of sweet returning spring.
DAISIES, ye flowers of lowly birth,
Embroiderers of the carpet earth,
That stud the velvet sod!
Open to spring's refreshing air,
In sweetest, smiling bloom declare
Your Maker and my God.
THE SHEPHERD BOY.
LIKE some vision olden
Of far other time,
When the age was golden,
In the young world's prime ;
To thy soft pipe ringing,
O lonely shepherd boy,
What song art thou singing
In thy youth and joy?
Or art thou complaining
Of thy lonely lot,
And thine own disdaining,
Dost ask what thou hast not?
Of the future dreaming,
Weary of the past,
For the present scheming,
All but what thou hast?
MANY, MANY YEARS AGO.
No; thou art delighting
In thy summer home,
Where the flowers inviting
Tempt the bee to roam;
Where the cowslip, bending
With its golden bells,
Of each glad hour's ending,
With a sweet chime tells.
All wild creatures love him;
When he is alone,
Every bird above him
Sings its softest tone;
Thankful to high Heaven,
Humble in thy joy,
Much to thee is given,
Lowly shepherd boy.
OH, my golden days of childhood,
Many, many years ago!
Ah! how well do I remember
What a pride it was to know—
When my little playmates mustered
On this old familiar spot,
To select their infant pastimes-
That my name was ne'er forgot.
When with merry, rosy faces,
They so eagerly would come,
Boasting of the longest top-string,
Or a top of loudest hum;
Or as proud and prancing horses,
Chase each other to and fro,
Ir the golden days of childhood,
Many, many years ago!
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