STANZAS. A mother's love! oh who may breathe- E'en from our childhood's birth? 'T is changeless, fathomless, and deep; To wake, and watch our feverish sleep, STANZAS [Suggested by a drawing of Felix Neff's Alpine Church.] Thou dwellest not in temples made By human hands alone, Earth is thy footstool, thou hast said, And Heaven above thy throne; Yet grateful is it, Lord! to see Each house of prayer built up to thee. Amid the crowded city's din, Such, when they meet our gaze, Inviting all to enter in, To offer prayer or praise ;— These wheresoever they may be Are silent witnesses for thee. 31 For mid the toil, and care, and strife, If such their charms met in the maze Are they less vocal to thy praise Where thought is hush'd and feeling free In quietness to worship thee? Hence is this humble temple rear'd In Alpine solitude, By one who loved thy name and fear'd, To touch the heart and bend the knee Thy word of gracious promise shews, Deserts shall blossom as the rose, And lonely places-dumb, Should shout and sing with joyful glee, THE FREED BIRD. Hasten, O Lord, that happy day! Thy blessing richly share; Earth may be full of praise to Thee. B. BARTON. 33 I have dress'd thy cage with flowers, 'Tis lovely as a violet bank In the heart of forest bowers. "I am free, I am free, I return no more! Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high, "The hills lie beneath me spread far and clear, With their glowing heath flowers and bounding deer; I see the waves flash on the sunny shore Woo me not back, I return no more!" D 34 THE FREED BIRD. Alas, alas, my Bird! Why seek'st thou to be free? Wert thou not blest in thy little bower, When thy song breathed nought but glee? "Did my song of the summer breathe nought but glee? "From a dream of the forest that music sprang, Was it with thee thus, my Bird? Yet, thine eye flash'd clear and bright; "It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race With the soul of the wild wood, my native place! With the spirit that panted through heaven to soarWoo me not back-I return no more! "My home is high amid rocking trees, My kindred things are the star and the breeze, And odours that wander afar away." THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 35 Farewell, farewell, then Bird! I have call'd on spirits gone, And it may be they joyed like thee to part- "If they were captives and pined like me, Though love may guard them, they joy'd to be free They sprang from the earth with a burst of power, To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour. "Call them not back when the chain is riven, soar HEMANS. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. The groans of Nature in this nether world, |