Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/144

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STANZAS.
Ye men who hold the pen,
 Rise like a band inspired,
And, poets, let your lyrics
 With hope for man be fired;
Till the earth becomes a temple,
 And every human heart
Shall join in one great service,
 Each happy in his part.

Stanzas.
    No courtly halls for me!
I sigh not for their pomp and state,
Their midnight scenes, their revels late
    Of thoughtless gaiety;
    My heart would feel oppressed,
And I should mourn while others smiled,
By visionary joys beguiled,
    And flatterers caressed.

    But where billows are dashing
    In the sunny light flashing,
    Where wild flowers are blushing,
    And mountain streams rushing—
There, and there only, is my heart's wild bound
Free as the air, while Nature smiles around.

    And yet! I would not dwell
A discontented denizen
In this fair world, apart from men,
    Like monk in cloistered cell;
Who, by a life of idle ease,
Must seek in vain his God to please.
    Be mine the happiness
(So exquisite!) of being blest,
And blessing others. I'd not rest
    In useless idleness;
But meekly, lowlily, would shed
A pure, bright influence, while I tread
The straight and rugged path my Saviour trod;
The only path that leads to heaven and God!

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