Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/144

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STANZAS.
Ye men who hold the pen, Rise like a band inspired,And, poets, let your lyrics With hope for man be fired;Till the earth becomes a temple, And every human heartShall join in one great service, Each happy in his part.
Stanzas.
    No courtly halls for me!I sigh not for their pomp and state,Their midnight scenes, their revels late    Of thoughtless gaiety;    My heart would feel oppressed,And I should mourn while others smiled,By visionary joys beguiled,    And flatterers caressed.
    But where billows are dashing    In the sunny light flashing,    Where wild flowers are blushing,    And mountain streams rushing—There, and there only, is my heart's wild boundFree as the air, while Nature smiles around.
    And yet! I would not dwellA discontented denizenIn this fair world, apart from men,    Like monk in cloistered cell;Who, by a life of idle ease,Must seek in vain his God to please.    Be mine the happiness(So exquisite!) of being blest,And blessing others. I'd not rest    In useless idleness;But meekly, lowlily, would shedA pure, bright influence, while I treadThe straight and rugged path my Saviour trod;The only path that leads to heaven and God!
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