  Oh for the spirit which inspired of old The seer's prophetic song—the voice that spake Through Israel's warrior king. The strains that burst In thrilling tones from Zion's heaven-strung harp, Float down the tide of ages, shedding light On pagan shores and nations far remote: Eternal as the God they celebrate, Their fame shall last when Time's long race is run, And you refulgent eye of this fair world,— Its light and centre,—into darkness shrinks, Eclipsed for ever by the glance of Him Whose rising sheds abroad eternal day. To Thee I dedicate my soul and song; In humble adoration bending low Before thy footstool. Thou alone canst stamp A lasting glory on the works of man, Tuning the shepherd's reed, or monarch's harp, To sounds harmonious. Immortality Exists alone in Thee. The proudest strain That ever fired the poet's soul, or drew Melodious breathings from his gifted lyre, Unsanctioned by thy smile, shall die away Like the faint sound which the soft summer breeze Wins from the stately lily's silver bells; A passing murmur, a half-whispered sigh, Heard for a moment in the deep repose Of Nature's midnight rest—then hushed for ever! Parent of genius, bright Enthusiasm! Bold nurse of high resolve and generous thought, 'Tis to thy soul-awakening power we owe The preacher's eloquence, the painter's skill, The warrior's courage, and the sage's lore. Oh! till the soul is quickened by thy breath, Wit, wisdom, eloquence, and beauty, fail To make a just impression on the heart; The tide of life creeps lazily along, Soiled with the stains of earth, and man debased Sinks far below the level of the stream. Alas! that thy bright flame should be confined To passion's maddening vortex; and the soul Waste all its glorious energies on earth!— The world allows its votaries to feel A glowing ardour, an intense delight, On every subject but the one that lifts The soul above its sensual, vain pursuits, And elevates the mind and thoughts to God! Zeal in a sacred cause alone is deemed An aberration of our mental powers. The sons of pleasure cannot bear that light Of heavenly birth which penetrates the souls Mourn o'er their lost, degraded state, and seek, Through faith in Christ's atonement, to regain The glorious liberty of sons of God! Who, as redeemed, account it their chief joy To praise and celebrate the wondrous love That called them out of darkness into light,— Severed the chain which bound them to the dust, Unclosed the silent portals of the grave, And gave Hope wings to soar again to heaven!— Oh, thou bright spirit, of whose power I sing, Electric, deathless energy of mind, Harp of the soul, by genius swept, awake! Inspire my strains, and aid me to portray The base and joyless vanities which man Madly prefers to everlasting bliss!— Come! let us mount gay Fancy's rapid car, And trace through forest and o'er mountain rude The bounding footsteps of the youthful bard, His harp is doomed to mourn in plaintive tones. His ardent unsophisticated mind, On all things beautiful, delighted, dwells. Earth is to him a paradise. No cloud Floats o'er the golden promise of the morn. Hope daily weaves fresh roses for his brow, Shrouding the grim and ghastly phantom, Death, Beneath her soft and rainbow-tinted wings. Ere Care has tainted with her poisonous breath Life's opening buds, all objects wear to him A lovely aspect, and he peoples space With creatures of his own. The glorious forms Which haunt his solitude, and brightly fill Imagination's airy hall, atone For all the faults and follies of his kind. Nor marvel that he cannot comprehend The speculative aims of worldly men: Dearer to him a leaf, or bursting bud, Culled fresh from Nature's treasury, than all His world is all within. He mingles not In their society; he cannot drudge To win the wealth they toil to realize. A different spirit animates his breast. Their eager calculations, hopes, and fears, Still flit before him, like dim shadows thrown By April's passing clouds upon the stream, A moment mirrored in its azure depths, Till the next sunbeam turns them into light!— Rashly confiding, still to be deceived, Our youthful poet overleaps the bounds Of probability. He walks this earth Like an enfranchised spirit; and the storms, That darken and convulse a guilty world, Come like faint peals of thunder on his ear, Or hoarser murmurs of the mighty deep, Which heard in some dark forest's leafy shade But add a solemn grandeur to the scene.— Rejoicing onward, ere the icy breath Of sorrow falls upon the sunny fount, And chains the music of its dancing waves.— What is the end of all his lovely dreams— The bright fulfilment of his earthly hopes? Too often penury and dire disease, Neglect, a broken heart, an early grave!— Oh, had he tuned his harp to class="i0">The love and favour of thy heavenly King, And shrink because the path to glory lies Up the steep hill of duty? He who saved, Amidst the tempest on Gennesaret, Peter, when sinking in the waves, will aid Thy feeble steps, and guide thee to the rock Of everlasting strength!— Spirit divine! Whose name I erst invoked, whose influence fills The narrow confines of this human breast,— If I have dared to sing of truths sublime, Hallow the feeble strains that would reveal The dazzling light, which streaming from thy wings, Gilds all the dark and troubled tide of thought. Lifted by thee above the gulf of time My eye explores the regions of the blessed, And hopes long chained to earth are raised to heaven. Never, while reason holds her steady rein, To curb imagination's fiery steeds, May I to joyless apathy resign The high and holy thoughts inspired by thee! |
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