A new library of poetry and song: . dear friend ; and in thy voice I catchThe language of my former heart, and readMy former pleasures in the shooting lightsOf thy wild eyes. 0, yet a little whileMay I behold in thee what 1 was dear, dear sister I and this prayer I make, jKnowing that Nature never did betrayThe heart that loved her ; t is her all the years of this our life, to leadFrom joy to joy : for she can so informThe mind that is within us, so impressWith cpiietness and beauty, and so feedWith lofty thoughts, that neither evil judgments, nor the sne
A new library of poetry and song: . dear friend ; and in thy voice I catchThe language of my former heart, and readMy former pleasures in the shooting lightsOf thy wild eyes. 0, yet a little whileMay I behold in thee what 1 was dear, dear sister I and this prayer I make, jKnowing that Nature never did betrayThe heart that loved her ; t is her all the years of this our life, to leadFrom joy to joy : for she can so informThe mind that is within us, so impressWith cpiietness and beauty, and so feedWith lofty thoughts, that neither evil judgments, nor the sneers of selfish greetings where no kindness is, nor allThe dreary intercourse of daily eer prevail against us, or disturbOur cheerful faith, that all which we beholdIs full of blessings. Therefore let the moonShine on thee in thy solitary walk ;And let tlie mistv mountain-winds be free This Irne has a close resemblance to an admirable line ofYounjjs, the exact expression of which I do not recollect.— THE SILENCE OF THI-: HILLS. The windy forest, rousins^ from its sleep,Voices its heart in hoarse Titanic roai^;The ocean bellows from its rocky shore;The cataract, that haunts the rut^ged steep,Makes mighty music in its headlong leap ;The clouds have voices, and the rivers pourTheir floods in tiiunder down to oceans floor; —The hills alone mysterious silence cannot rend the ancient chain that barsTheir iron lips, nor answer back the seaThat calls to them far off in vain ; the starsThey cannot hail, nor their wild brooks. Ah me !What cries from out their stony hearts will Gods great day, when all that sleep shall wake ! \M Prescott Foster.
Size: 1875px × 1333px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookye
