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The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,
So the multitude goes—like the flower and the weed
For we are the same things that our fathers have been,
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think,
They loved—but their story we cannot unfold,
They died—ay, they died ! and we things that are now,
'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
YOUTH AND AGE.
Oh! Youth is like the springtide morn,
When roses bloom on Jordan's strand, And far the turtle's voice is borne
Through all Judea's echoing land ! When the delighted wanderer roves Through cedar woods and olive groves,
That spread their blossoms to the day ; And climbs the hill, and fords the stream, And basks him in the noontide beam,
“Oh! I would live alway.”
But Age is like the winter's night,
When Hermon wears his mantle cloud,
And Hinnom's blast is long and loud ;
Forsaken by each friendly ray;
“I would not live alway.”
Oh! Youth is firmly bound to earth,
When hope beams on each comrade's glance; His bosom chords are tuned to mirth,
Like harp-strings in the cheerful dance ;
Where all his household comforts lay;
“I would not live alway.”
No God !—Who lights the morning sun, And sends him on his heavenly road,
A far and brilliant course to run ?
Who, when the radiant day is done, Hangs forth the moon's nocturnal lamp,
And bids the planets, one by one, Steal o'er the night-vales, dark and damp ?
No God !—Who gives the evening dew,
The fanning breeze, the fostering shower? Who warms the spring-morn's budding bough,
And paints the summer's noontide flower ?
Who spreads in the autumnal bower, The fruit-tree's mellow stores around;
And sends the winter's icy power, T' invigorate the exhausted ground ?
No God !—Who makes the bird to wing
Its flight like arrow through the sky, And gives the deer its power to spring
From rock to rock triumphantly ?
Who formed Behemoth, huge and high, That at a draught the river drains,
And great Leviathan to lie, Like floating isle, on ocean plains ?
No God !—Who warms the heart to heave
With thousand feelings soft and sweet, And prompts the aspiring soul to leave
The earth we tread beneath our feet,
And soar away on pinions fleet, Beyond the scene of mortal strife,
With fair ethereal forms to meet, That tell us of an after life ?
No God !Who fixed the solid ground
On pillars strong, that alter not? Who spread the curtained skies around ?
Who doth the ocean bounds allot ?
Who all things to perfection brought On earth below, in heaven abroad ?
Go ask the fool of impious thought That dares to say,—“There is no God !"
TO - MORROW.
TO-MORROW !—Mortal, boast not thou
To-day-while hearts with rapture spring,
To-day—the blooming spouse may press
To-day—the clasping babe may drain
To-morrow !—Mortal, boast not thou
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE.
This poet was born of a family distinguished in the history of Connecticut, at New Haven, on the 26th of September, 1789. He graduated at Yale College, with a high reputation for abilities and scholarship, in 1808, and afterwards entered upon the business of a merchant. His principal works are “ The Vision of Judgment,” published in 1812 ; “ Percy's Mosque," published originally while he was on a visit to England, in 1820; “Hadad,” which appeared in 1825, and “ Demetria," written in 1816, but not printed until it was included in the collection of his works which he gave to the world in 1840, a few months before his death. As a poet, Mr. Hillhouse possessed qualities seldom found united : a masculine strength of mind, and a most delicate perception of the beautiful. With an imagination of the loftiest order-with “ the vision and the faculty divine” in its fullest exercise, the wanderings of his fancy were chastened and controlled by exquisite taste. The grand characteristic of his writings is their classical beauty. Every passage is polished to the utmost, yet there is no exuberance, no sacrifice to false and meretricious taste. He threw aside the gaudy and affected brilliancy with which too many set forth their poems, and left his to stand, like the doric column, charming by its simplicity.
CLOSE OF THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
As, when from some proud capital that crowns