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The shadow of the earth anon

Removes and drawis by, While in the east, when it is gone,

Appears a clearer sky.

Which soon perceive the little larks,

The lapwing and the snipe, And time their songs, like Nature's clerks,

O'er meadow, muir, and stripe.

Our hemisphere is polished clean,

And lightened more and more ; While everything is clearly seen,

Which seemed dim before ;

Except the glistering astres bright,

Which all the night were clear, Offuskéd with a greater light

No longer do appear.

The sunlight fills the trembling air,

And balmy days their guerdons bring; The Earth again is young and fair,

And amorous with musky Spring. The golden nurslings of the May

In splendor strew the spangled green, And hues of tender beauty play,

Entangled where the willows lean. Mark how the rippled currents flow;

What lustres on the meadows lie ! And hark! the songsters come and go,

And trill between the earth and sky. Who told us that the years had fled,

Or borne afar our blissful youth? Such joys are all about us spread,

We know the whisper was not truth. The birds that break from grass and grove

Sing every carol that they sung When first our veins were rich with love,

And May her mantle round us flung. O fresh-lit dawn ! immortal life!

O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true, With whose delights our souls are rife,

And aye their vernal vows renew ! Then, darling, walk with me this morn ;

Let your brown tresses drink its sheen ; These violets, within them worn,

Of floral fays shall make you queen. What though there comes a time of pain

When autumn winds forbode decay? The days of love are born again ;

That fabled time is far away!

The golden globe incontinent

Sets up his shining head, And o'er the earth and firmament

Displays his beams abread.

For joy the birds with boulden throats

Against his visage sheen
Take up their kindly music notes

In woods and gardens green.

The dew upon the tender crops,

Like pearles white and round, Or like to melted silver drops,

Refreshes all the ground.

The misty reek, the clouds of rain

From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain,

The vapors take the vales.

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Close his his work is done!

What to him is friend on foeman,
Rise of morn on det of Sun

by hin low, ay him low,
In the clover on the snow!

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What Lay his low!





Come while our voices are blended in song,

Fly to our ark like the storm-beaten dove, Daughter of God! that sit'st on high

Fly to our ark on the wings of the dove, Amid the dances of the sky,

Speed o'er the far-sounding billows of song, And guidest with thy gentle sway

Crowned with thine olive-leaf garland of love ; The planets on their tuneful way ;

Angel of Peace, thou hast waited too long ! Sweet Peace ! shall ne'er again The smile of thy most holy face,

Brothers, we meet on this altar of thine, From thine ethereal dwelling-place,

Mingling the gifts we have gathered for thee, Rejoice the wretched, weary race

Sweet with the odors of myrtle and pine, Of discord-breathing men ?

Breeze of the prairie and breath of the sea ! Too long, O gladness-giving Queen ! Meadow and mountain, and forest and sea ! Thy tarrying in heaven has been ;

Sweet is the fragrance of myrtle and pine, Too long o'er this fair blooming world Sweeter the incense we offer to thee, The flag of blood has been unfurled,

Brothers, once more round this altar of thine ! Polluting God's pure day ; Whilst, as each maddening people reels,

Angels of Bethlehem, answer the strain ! War onward drives his scythéd wheels,

Hark! a new birth-song is filling the sky!

Loud as the storm-wind that tumbles the main, And at his horses' bloody heels Shriek Murder and Dismay.

Bid the full breath of the organ reply ;

Let the loud tempest of voices reply ; Oft have I wept to hear the cry

Roll its long surge like the earth-shaking main ! Of widow wailing bitterly ;

Swell the vast song till it mounts to the sky ! To see the parent's silent tear

Angels of Bethlehem, echo the strain !
For children fallen beneath the spear ;

And I have felt so sore
The sense of human guilt and woe,
That I, in Virtue's passioned glow,
Have cursed (my soul was wounded so)

The shape of man I bore !
Then come from thy serene abode,

ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Thou gladness-giving child of God !

Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And cease the world's ensanguined strife,

And fiery hearts and arméd hands And reconcile my soul to life ;

Encountered in the battle-cloud. For much I long to see,

Ah! never shall the land forget Ere I shall to the grave descend,

How gushed the life-blood of her brave, Thy hand its blessed branch extend,

Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, And to the world's remotest end

Upon the soil they fought to save. Wave Love and Harmony !

Now all is calm and fresh and still ;

Alone the chirp of flitting bird,

And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.
ANGEL of Peace, thou hast wandered too long! No solemn host goes trailing by

Spread thy white wings to the sunshine of love! | The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ;



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