ARBOR DA Y MAX UAL. 



Here is continual worship Nature, here, 



In the tranquility that thou dost love, 



Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 



From perch to perch, the solitary bird 



Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 



Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 



Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 



Of all the good it does. 



Thou hast not left 



Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 

 Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 

 Are here to speak of thee. This might}* oak 

 By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

 Almost annihilated not a prince. 

 In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

 E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

 Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 

 Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

 Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

 Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 

 With scented breath and look so like a smile, 

 Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 

 An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

 A visible token of the upholding Love, 

 That are the soul of this wide universe. 



My heart is awed within me when I think 

 Of the great miracle that still goes on, 

 In silence, round me the perpetual work 

 Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 

 Forever. Written on thy works I read 

 The lesson of thy own eternity. 

 Lo ! all grow old and die but see, again. 

 How on the faltering footsteps of decay 

 Youth presses ever gay and beautiful youth 

 In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 

 Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 

 Moulder beneath them. * * * 



There have been holy men who hid themselves 

 Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 

 Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 

 The generation born with them, nor seemed 

 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 

 Around them ; and there have been holv men 

 Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 



