HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY. [Besides the rivers Arve and Arveiron, which have their sources at the foot of Mont Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides; and within a few paces of the Glaciers, the Gentiana major grows in immense numbers, with its "flowers of loveliest blue."] HAST thou a charm to stay the Morning Star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Into the mighty vision passing-there As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven! Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale ! Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks For ever shatter'd and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded, (and the silence came,) Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Ye Ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Who made you glorious as the Gates of Heaven Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the Mountain Storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the elements! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breastThou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, a while bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, S. T. COLERIDGE, 1772-1834. OH, HEAVEN IS NEARER. OH, heaven is nearer than mortals think, From the quiet home of the dead. Where the lovely ones who are call'd away No! heaven is near us, the mighty veil That we cannot see the angel bands On the shores of eternity: Yet oft in the hours of holy thought, To the thirsting soul is given That power to pierce through the mists of sense To the beauteous scenes of heaven. Then very near seems its pearly gates, Till the soul is restless to soar away I know when the silver cord is loosed, Not long and dark shall the passage be The eye that shuts in a dying hour Shall open the next in bliss ; The welcome shall sound in the heavenly world We pass from the clasp of mourning friends And those dear faces shall greet us then Which on earth we have cherish'd most. ANONYMOUS. |