THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG.

From the purple mountains bore
Greetings to the sunset-shore.
Now the sailor's vesper-hymn
Dies away.

Father, in the forest dim,
Be my Stay!

In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves that late hung still;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan;
In the deep tints of the sky,
There are signs of tempest nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,

Falls the closing dusk around.
Father, through the storm and shade
O'er the wild,

Oh, be Thou the lone one's Aid,-
Save Thy child!

Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,

O'er my way hath flitted fast
Since the farewell sunbeam passed
From the chestnut's ruddy bark,
And the pools, now lone and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste.
God of might,

Shield the homeless midst the waste,-
Be his Light!

169

In his distant cradle-nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest;
Beautiful his slumber seems

With a glow of heavenly dreams.
Beautiful, o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray
For the loved and far-away.

Father, guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!

Back, through Thine all-guiding power,
Lead me there!

Darker, wilder grows the night :
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made.
Thou to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,
By Thy Son, who knew distress

In the lonely wilderness,

Where no roof to that blest head

Shelter gave,

Father, through the time of dread,

Save, oh, save!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE ODOR.

171

THE ODOR.

How sweetly doth MY MASTER Sound; MY MASTER !
As ambergris leaves a rich scent

Unto the taster:

So do these words a sweet content, An oriental fragrancy: MY MASTER!

With these all day I do perfume my mind,
My mind even thrust into them both:
That I might find

What cordials make this curious broth,

This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my mind.

MY MASTER, shall I speak? Oh, that, to Thee,

MY SERVANT were a little so,

As flesh may be:

That these two words might creep and grow To some degree of spiciness to Thee!

Then should the Pomander, which was before
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection,
And tell me more.

For pardon of my imperfection.

Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

For when MY MASTER (which alone is sweet,

And even in my unworthiness pleasing)
Shall call, and meet

MY SERVANT, as Thee not displeasing;
That call is but the breathing of the sweet.

This breathing would with gains, by sweetening me (As sweet things traffic when they meet),

Return to Thee;

And so this new commerce and sweet

Should, all my life, employ and busy me.

HERBERT.

ÆTERNE RERUM CONDITOR.

FRAMER of the earth and sky,

Ruler of the day and night,
With a glad variety

Tempering all and making light.