Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/82

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

64

THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.

He, who from chaos called the world,
And hade creation be,
From depth of moral gloom unfurled
The mind, and made it free.

This renovation of the soul,
This morn of happier time,
Makes former wounds of sorrow whole,
Atoning man's first crime.

And still his rays are shining bright,
To all who seek their power,
Inspiring warmth and guidance—light
In life, or death's dark hour.

Oh, hail him then, with shouts of praise,
With loud hosannas sing,
High, high your swelling anthems raise
To Heaven and Nature's king.

For, through the dim of future years,
So Faith illumes the eye,
Him, who the drooping spirit cheers,
I see forsake the sky.

And, clad in glory all His own,
Begirt with Mercy's sword,
While seraphs wait around His throne,
He speaks the vital word.

And the last morning flashes forth,
The graves give back their dead,
From west to east, from south to north,
Hell's power is captive led.

That morn shall set again no more,
But rise to perfect day,
And grief and sin on Eden's shore,
And tears, shall pass away.

No clouds the lovely scene shall gloom,
No terrors man affright,
Celestial blessings ever bloom,
A day without a night!

There Is a Tongue in Every Leaf.

There is a tongue in every leaf,
A voice in every rill—
A voice that speaketh everywhere,
In flood and fire, through earth and air!
A tongue that's never still!