Enthusiasm and Other Poems

Nature will furnish subjects far beyond The grasp of human genius. Didst thou e'er, On mossy bank or grassy plot reclined, Watch the effect of sunlight on the boughs Of some tall graceful ash, or maple tree? Each leaf illumin'd by the noon-tide beam Transparent shines.--Anon a heavy cloud Floats for a moment o'er the car of day, And gloom descends upon the forest bowers; A ray steals forth--and on the topmost twig Falls, like a silver star. From leaf to leaf The glory spreads, shoots down the rugged trunk And gilds each spray, till the whole tree stands forth Arrayed in light.--This is beyond thy art. All thy enthusiasm, all thy boasted skill, But poorly imitates a forest tree.

But let us leave the painter. Let us turn To those, who never swept the sounding lyre Or grasped the pencil,--ardent minds that hold A deep communion with the winds and waves, The youthful worshippers at Nature's shrine: What says the soft voice of the plaintive breeze, Mournfully sweeping through the forest boughs, In airy play moved gently by its breath? To such it hath a language, and it wins A tender echo from the youthful heart.--

With throbbing bosom Nature's student treads The sylvan haunts, exultingly leaps forth To hail the coming of the genial spring, Shedding around from her green lap the buds, In winter's rugged casket long enshrined, To form the chaplet of the infant year.-- Young pensive moralist!--'tis sweet to muse On beauties which escape the vulgar eye, To talk with Nature 'mid her woodland paths, And hear an answering voice in every breeze.-- You court her beauties with a lover's zeal; You hear her voice, nor understand the sound Which speaks to you--to all. The volume spread Before your dazzled eyes, so rich with life, Is a closed book--a fair illumined scroll, Traced in strange characters, unknown to you. Would you unfold the mystery, and read The record the eternal hand of God Has, of himself, on Nature's tablets graved? You must explore another wondrous book, Of deeper interest far--the book of life-- The glorious volume of unsullied truth!-- Time's rapid and undeviating march Tramples down empires, blots out names that once Bid fair for perpetuity of fame. Truth is alone eternal as the God Who on this everlasting basis placed His own immutable and moveless throne. Time to these writings daily adds new force, Deepening the traces of Jehovah's love, His fathomless, unbounded love to man.-- Peruse this volume, and then walk abroad And meditate in silence on the scenes Which lately charmed your unassisted sense, Till your soul burns within you, and breaks forth In holy hymns of gratitude and praise.--

Faith gives a grandeur to created things, Beyond the poet's lay or painter's art, Or upward flight of Fancy's eagle wing;-- Earth is the vista through which heaven is seen By him who, journeying through life's narrow vale, Seeks in the objects which around him rise To hold communion with his God! to trace The wisdom, goodness, majesty, and love, That clothed the lilies of the field, and twined The simple diadem of buds and leaves, So rich in their diversity of shade, Round Nature's brow,--and o'er the rugged hills Cast the light floating veil of purple haze, Which harmonizes to its own soft hue The broken precipice and barren heath. Here admiration may have ample scope: The spirit soaring upward drinks in light From other worlds, and in the choral song Of happy birds among the forest bowers, Hears the seraphic and harmonious strains That angels chant around the eternal throne!-- To him there is an anthem in the breeze, A burst of triumph in the thunder's peal, Which, slowly rolling through the troubled air, Strikes man with terror, and yet praises God!--

O'er Fancy's glass another shadow flits, Which shows a bolder aspect than the gay Impassioned votaries of Nature wear. Mark his majestic port, his eagle eye, The stern erection of his haughty brow, Partially shaded by the snowy plumes That lightly wave and wanton in the breeze.-- Is this a pensioner of hope?--Is this A dreamer of wild dreams?--All eyes are turned To gaze upon him, as with measured step The weaponed warrior slowly passes by.-- Oh, this is one of War's tremendous sons, Glory's intrepid champion: his stout heart Leaps, as the war-horse, to the trumpet's sound, And hails the storm of battle from afar. He loves the press, the tumult, and the strife, Where horror holds the gory steeds of death, And slaughter hews a passage for the brave!-- He too is an enthusiast!--his zeal Impels him onward with resistless force, Severs his heart from nature's kindred ties, And feeds the wild ambition which consumes All that is good and lovely in his path. He flashes, like a meteor, on the sight, Seen 'mid the angry thunder-clouds of war, Seeking a living name in fields where Death Holds his imperial banquet, and the blood Of thousands flows to furnish forth the feast.

There was a time when softer feelings held Their mild dominion o'er that haughty breast; When at his mother's feet, a rosy boy, He wove bright garlands for his artless brow, And sought, with playful dalliance, to detain The busy hand that could not pause to bind His cumbrous wreath, or answer the caress Of him who climbed her knees to steal the kiss. But even at those tender years, his braid Of April blossoms was his crown; the twig Of golden willow, with white daisies bound, His jewelled sceptre; and the mossy bank, Where he reclined in floral state, his throne; The lambs that sported in the yellow meads His lawful subjects; while his azure eye Looked up to heaven with all a child's delight, And thought that earth was only made for him.-- How often has he wept for that fair moon, That shed her trembling glory o'er his path; Wearied his slender limbs to reach the spot On which the rainbow based its splendid arch, And felt his heart with disappointment beat When the fair pageant faded from his view.--

Ah, simple boy!--well had it been for thee Had thy ambitious longings been confined To objects wisely placed beyond thy grasp. But years stole on--thy ardent spirit broke Its childish trammels, and with eager joy Explored the warlike annals of the past, And called up spirits of the mighty dead, To set their hostile armies in array, And fight for thee their sanguine battles o'er. Oh, while such visions burst upon thy sight, Whilst shouts of victory and dying groans Rang on thine ear--time backward rolled his tide, Rome in her ancient splendour proudly rose, And murdered Caesar lived again in thee!

Young fiery soldier!--let us track thy steps Through danger's stormy paths, to win the goal Of all thy lofty and ambitious hopes. Wedded to glory, thy brave heart springs forth To win thy bride from valour's armed hand, And pluck the laurel from the brow of death. A novice in the camp and new to arms, The bugle lulls thee to repose, the trumpet Thrills on thy sleeping ear, and bids thee dream Of deathless fields in fancy fought and won. At length the day of trial comes--the day Which puts thy boasted courage to the proof-- Thy first in battle, and perchance thy last. The camp is broken up, the air is rent With strains of martial music, the loud neigh Of prancing steeds, impatient for the strife, With clang of arms, and oft-repeated shouts Of warriors, who impatiently leap forth With reckless hardihood to meet their doom.

With beating heart, firm step, and flashing eye, The young recruit of glory proudly grasps The standard he must only yield with life. The march commences--deep excitement grows To fiery expectation--he forgets, Amidst the hurried interest of the scene, The crown he fights for only can be won Through seas of slaughter and the waste of life. Alas! how few devoted hearts like his Survive their first engagement with the foe. Death strikes the hero to the dust. He falls In honour's mantle, the triumphant cry Of victory on his pallid lip expires! But what are conquests of the bow and spear, And Alexander's victories, compared With the stern warfare which the soul maintains Against the subtle tempter of mankind-- The base corruptions of a sinful world-- An evil conscience and a callous heart? Oh, vanquish these!--and through the gates of death Triumphant pass and win a heavenly crown!--

Oh, that my soul could find a voice to speak; That human language could express the thoughts Which fill the secret chambers of the brain. In vain the lips pour forth harmonious sounds; In vain the eager eye is raised to heaven, Swimming in tears, and bright with ecstasy,-- The senses still are debtors to the heart, Which, trembling, throbs for utterance in vain. Does the salvation of a deathless soul Kindle no hope in the possessor's breast? Awaken no desire to be restored To that most pure and perfect state of bliss Man by transgression lost?--the noble thought Of claiming kindred with the skies, give birth To no anticipations of delight-- Joys such as angels share, and saints, who dwell Within the circle of Jehovah's throne? A light is breaking on my mental eye; Visions of glory in succession rise And fill the airy palace of the soul. I see afar the promised land. An arch Of golden radiance canopies the gates Of that celestial city--Beautiful! Unbuilt by hands--the New Jerusalem-- And holy to the Lord; the happy home Of pilgrims, who to reach that heavenly shrine Sojourned as strangers on this goodly earth, Counting all things but loss--yea, life itself-- To win an entrance through those gates of pearl, And dwell within the temple of their God! Alas! earth's dusky shadow lies between My ardent spirit and that blissful shore: Eye hath not seen, nor mortal ear hath heard, How then can mortal pen portray, the joys Prepared for those who live and die in Christ!

Before me flows the rapid stream of time, Dark, fathomless, encumbered with the wrecks Of twice three thousand years. They too shall sink Beneath those turbid waters, swallowed up In the vast ocean of eternity; Leaving few fragments on the boundless waste To tell to coming years that such have been. How shall the naked spirit cross the flood, And land in safety on the happy shore? 'Tis not an earthly pilot that can steer So frail a bark through such a stormy tide. Cannot the eye of faith look up and see The clouds of sorrow part--the day-star rise Above life's trackless ocean, shedding light Upon the darkened nations? From its beams The mist of error flies, the angry waves Of passion, which so long have vexed the world, Are hushed to rest; controlled by Him who rose From tranquil sleep, and to the roaring waste Of midnight waters, mustering all their wrath, Said, "Peace, be still." The howling winds obeyed, And silence sank upon the storm-tossed main!--

Oh look to Him! and to his glorious word. His universal sovereignty demands That deep devotion of the heart which men Miscall enthusiasm!--Zeal alone deserves The name of madness in a worldly cause. Light misdirected ever leads astray; But hope inspired by faith will guide to heaven! To win the laurel wreath the soldier fights; To free his native land the patriot bleeds; And to secure his crown the martyr dies! For beauteous Rachel Isaac's son endured Seven years of bitter servitude, and deemed The weary months but moments to obtain From crafty Laban's hand his promised bride. To prove his friendship for the man he loved, The generous Jonathan forgot his claims To royalty, intent to save the life Of him whom God had called to fill his throne. And wilt thou feel less zealous to regain 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!--