Canada And Other Poems Part 3

Should man, with microscopic eye, View the details of Nature's plan, Into each nook and corner pry, And needlessly the hidden scan?

Should he inspect each bud and flow'r, With close, unmeant, uncall'd-for look, And, by his a.n.a.lytic pow'r, Dissolve each charm of vale or brook?

Should he resolve the rainbow's hues, Into their prime and simple forms, And thus the charm dispel, unloose, Which gladdens us, amid the storms?

Should he, with keen, inquiring look, Insist on knowing, seeing all, Which nature made a sealed book On this, our strange, terrestrial ball,

'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed, When we should pry, and when refrain, But science surely has its need Of knowledge gain'd, and also pain.

The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf, Have surely charms we all can tell, And a.n.a.lysing brings to grief, The charms we felt, and knew so well.

Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild, Could view the rainbow in the sky, And, tho' in science but a child, He saw with gladden'd heart, and eye.

And so, I apprehend, that we Should oft restrain our thoughts and sight, Nor delve too far, nor try to see, With deeper, but more painful light.

NIAGARA FALLS.

Niagara, thou mighty flood.

I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar, And on the frightful verges stood, That overhang thy rocky sh.o.r.e.

I've sailed o'er surging waves below, And view'd the rainbow's colour'd light, And felt the spray, thy waters throw, When leaping, with resistless might.

I've seen the rapids in their course, Like madden'd, living things rush on, With wild, unhesitating force, To where thy mighty chasms yawn.

And there to take the awful leap, And fall, with hoa.r.s.e and sullen roar, Into th' unfathomable deep, Which rolleth on, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand, Thou fill'st human souls with awe, For thee, and for that mighty Hand, Which maketh thee, by nature's law.

Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming ma.s.s Of water, plunging, roaring down, But so are we, yea, we surpa.s.s Thee, and we wear a n.o.bler crown.

Thy mighty head is crowned with foam, And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue; Our earthly forms--our present home-- Are insignificant to you.

But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou, Tho' puny be our forms to thine, These forms possess, yea, even now, A spark, a ray of life divine.

Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl Thyself to roaring depths below, And let the mists of ages curl, And generations come and go.

But know, stupendous wonder, know, Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod Of Him, who lets thy waters flow; Thy Maker, but our Friend and G.o.d.

Thy rocks _shall_ crumble, fall they must; Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more, But we shall rise, e'en from the dust, To live upon another sh.o.r.e.

A SABBATH MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.

'Tis morning, and the meadows yet, Are wet with gracious drops of dew.

Each blade of gra.s.s, and flow'r, is set With sparkling gems of richest hue.

The sun, with rising glory, sheds A radiance, that none divine, Save those, who early leave their beds, When glist'ning dew-drops briefly s.h.i.+ne.

Just ere the rising sunbeams play, From glorious...o...b.. of rosy red, There is no sound of life, no hum, And but, seemingly, all things are dead.

But when the blessed, welcome beams, Light up, and cheer, and warm the earth, All things awaken from their dreams, To celebrate Creation's birth.

The very fields are filled with life, With hum of bee, and insect throng; The woods are vocal, with the strife Of friendly rivalry, in song.

But 'tis the Sabbath morn, and now Are heard no sounds of industry, Save milk-maid, calling to her cow, Or buzzing of the toilsome bee.

Or save, perhaps, the gentle neigh Of horses, answering the call, For mother, father, child to-day Must hear the holy words, that fall From lips, that pray with them, and preach To them, the old, old words of cheer.

They must receive the sounds, that teach Those solemn truths, they love to hear.

But now, the sun's increasing heat Hath dried the dew, and warm'd the air; The feather'd songsters now retreat, Fann'd by the sun's relentless glare.

The morning service now is o'er, The pastor, kindly greeted too, And, after greetings at the door, They all their homeward way pursue.

JOHN AND JANE.

Said Jane to John, "Come, let us wed, For know, dear John, I love you, And, by the bright stars overhead, There's none I place above you."

"I doubt it not," said John, "and I Reciprocate the feeling, And here, with one despairing cry, I kneel, and love you, kneeling."

"Then why, dear John, do you despair, If you do love so madly?"

"Because," said John, "my pocket there Is slim, and furnish'd badly."

"Oh, that is naught," said Jane, with glee, "I'd marry you to-morrow, And live on bread, and water free, Without one grain of sorrow."

"All right," said John, "I'm with you there, Old Logan's charming daughter, You'll get the bread, the work to share, And I will get the water."

THINGS MYSTERIOUS.

This earth's a mystery profound, Its movements, make, and changes all-- A mystery which none can sound, Who dwell upon the whirling ball.

And deeper far than all the rest, Is man; a mystery unsolved Since the first heave of ocean's breast, Since the first course our earth revolv'd.

His thoughts, and e'en his actions too, Possess a subtle meaning, when That meaning others may construe, As plain and open to their ken.

There is a place in every heart, As secret as the silent tomb, Where others have no lot nor part, Where none may gaze, where none may room.

It seemeth strange, that flesh and blood Should hold such ghostly, h.e.l.lish things, And also things supremely good, Which might not shame an angel's wings.

Yet so it is, for ev'ry throb That man's pulsating bosom gives, And ev'ry smile, and ev'ry sob Speaks of a mystery that lives.

There is a tale in ev'ry flow'r, Which none may whisper, none may tell, A secret thing in ev'ry bower, Which ev'ry tenant hideth well.

There is a tale of joy and woe, Round ev'ry hearth, in ev'ry land, Which ne'er may ever further go, Than round that humble, home-like band.