cr own readers

218 A FOREST HYMN.
Report not ; no fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race to change th e form
Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here- Thou fill'st
The solit ude : Tho u art in th e soft winds
That run along the summit of thes e trees
I n music ; Thou art in th e cooler breath
Tha t from th e inmost darkness of th e place
Comes, scarcely felt ; th e barky trunks, the gro und,
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee.
5. Here is continual worship ; Nature here,
In th e tranquillity t hat Thou dost love,
Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly aro und,
F rom perch to perch, th e solitary bird
Passes ; and yon clear spring, that midst its herbs
'Veils softly forth, and wand eri ng steeps the roots
Of half the migh ty forest, tens no tale
Of all th e good it does. Th ou hast not left
Thy self without a witness, in th ese shades,
Of Thy perfections; grandeur, strength, and grace
Are here to speak of Thee.
6. Thi s migh ty oak,
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem
Al most annihilated-not a prince
E'er wore his crown as lofti ly as he
Wears the green corona l of leaves wit h which
T hy 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,
\Vit h scented breath and look so like a smile,
Seems, as it issues from th e sha peless mould,
A n emanation of the ind welling Life,
A visible token of the upholding Love ,
That are th e soul of this great universe.