Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/189

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SUMMER HYMN.
171
   It is May! it is May!   And the flowers obey The beams which alone are more bright than they:Up they spring at the touch of the sun,And opening their sweet eyes, one by one In a language of beauty, they seem all to say—  And of perfumes—'tis May! it is May!
   It is May! it is May!   And delights that lay Chilled and enchained beneath Winter's sway,Break forth again o'er the kindling soul;And soften and soothe it, and bless it whole; Oh! thoughts more tender than words convey  Sigh out—It is May! it is May!
Summer Hymn.
God of my sires! yon arch of blue,The balmy breeze, that verdant hue,And this warm glow of summer's primeTransport me o'er the bounds of time;To Fancy's gaze new worlds ariseAnd people yonder orient skies;The boundless realms of 'erial spaceHave many a bright and beauteous placeThat earth-born eye may never see;That earth-born thought, howe'er so free,Can image not nor shadow out,Even with the misty trace of doubt.Yet there, O God! like ocean's sand,Strewed on the shelving, surf-beat strand,Innumerous hosts—a countless throng,Spontaneous swell the choral songOf endless praise; for there, as here,All that asks worship, love, or fear;All above, around, below,To Thee, First Cause, their being owe.Thy fiat gave them instant birth;Thou, Thou from chaos called them forth.Vast, awful, measureless, immenseThy power and Thine omnipotence!  But, oh! thy gentle Love,  Softly streaming from above;  Warm as the solar beam of day,  Yet calm and sweet as Hesper's ray.
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