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IV. God gave him reverence of laws, Yet stirring blood in Freedom's causeA spirit to his rocks akin, The eye of the Hawk, and the fire therein!
The straining oar and chamois chase
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
The Shepherds went their hasty way, .
And found the lowly stable-shed
And now they check’d their eager tread,
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
While sweeter than a Mother's song, Blest Angels heralded the Saviour's birth, Glory to God on high ! and Peace on Earth.
And closer still the Babe she press'd;
The milk rush'd faster to her breast :::
Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Poor, simple, and of low estate !
O why should this thy soul elate ?
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Him Earth's majestic monarch's hail Their Friend, their Playmate ! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.
VI. “ Tell this in some more courtly scene, . “ To maids and youths in robes of state ! “ I am a woman poor and mean,
“ And therefore is my Soul elate. “War is a ruffian, all with guilt defild, “ That from the aged Father tears his Child !
VII. “ A murderous fiend, by fiends ador'd,
“ He kills the Sire and starves the Son; “ The Husband kills, and from her board
“ Steals all his Widow's toil had won ; “ Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away “ All safety from the Night, all comfort from the Day."
VIII. “ Then wisely is my soul elate,
“ That Strife should vanish, Battle cease : “ I'm poor and of a low estate,
“ The Mother of the Prince of Peace. “ Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: « Peace, Peace on Earth, the Prince of Peace is born.”
On the Denial of Immortality.
If dead, we cease to be; if total gloom +
Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
Whose sound and motion not alone declare, But are their whole of being! If the Breath
Be Life itself, and not its Task and Tent, If ev'n a soul like. Milton's can know death ;
O Man! thou vessel purposeless, unmeant,
Surplus of nature's dread activity,
She form’d with restless hands unconsciously.
If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy Hopes thy Fears, The counter-weights !—Thy Laughter and thy Tears
Mean but themselves, each fittest to create