  The wilderness! The wilderness! It stretches wide and drear, As I stand amidst its solitudes with no companion near: I watch the vulture sailing as he circles in the sky, The ostrich stalking o’er the wilds—the springbok bounding by. The wilderness! The wilderness! ’Tis where the lion roars; And whence the wasting locust-flood its living torrent pours: With rushing ruin on their wings, its myriad myriads sweep, Like waters from the mountains, or the surges of the deep. The wilderness! The wilderness! The desert blast is there; And the sun sends down his fiery rays with fierce and blinding glare. And spiral columns o’er the waste rise circling to the sky. There gathering vultures’ sounding wings swoop on their hapless prey; And they clamour round their victim ere life has ebbed away. The “ringhals” rises on his coil at the startled traveller’s side; The false mirage’s wavy streams in phantom ripples glide. Strange sounds are in the wilderness: the wild dog’s plaintive wail, As he calls his fellows from afar, comes faintly on the gale. The vulture’s voice screams harshly, as he sights his prey on high; The bursting meteor echoes from the regions of the sky. A thousand insect voices, with their thousand notes are there; With chirrup, ring, or buzz of wing, they fill the sounding air; And waking fancy starts to hear the trumpet’s note afar; The pibroch’s martial gathering, the barbarian’s cry of war. But the wilderness has lessons: in danger’s lonely hour, How weak man’s solitary arm! How vain his boast of power! The humbled spirit learns to look for Heaven’s protecting care; Is safety in the wilderness? Then God is present there. The wilderness might wean the heart from earth and earthly love; And bid the freed affections soar to happier realms above. Look now upon this barren waste, then turn thy wistful eyes To the fields where flowers immortal bloom, beyond the starry skies. No scorching sun, no withering wind, no serpent’s tooth is there: No vulture swoop of terror; no locust-cloud of care. No faithless mocking phantom-streams the longing eyes beguile; But living fountains sparkle bright in God’s eternal smile. Rev. H. H. Dugmore. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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