The Poems of Felicia Hemans
The moon in brightness walks on high;
And, set in azure, every star
Shines, a pure gem of heaven, afar!
Child of the earth! oh, lift thy glance
To yon bright firmament’s expanse;
The glories of its realm explore,
And gaze, and wonder, and adore!
Doth it not speak to every sense
The marvels of Omnipotence?
Seest thou not there the Almighty name
Inscribed in characters of flame?
Count o’er these lamps of quenchless light,
That sparkle through the shades of night:
Behold them! can a mortal boast
To number that celestial host?
Mark well each little star, whose rays
In distant splendour meet thy gaze:
Each is a world, by Him sustain’d
Who from eternity hath reign’d.
Each, kindled not for earth alone,
Hath circling planets of its own,
And beings, whose existence springs
From Him, the all-powerful King of kings.
Haply, those glorious beings know
No stain of guilt, or tear of woe;
But, raising still the adoring voice,
For ever in their God rejoice.
What then art _thou_, O child of clay!
Amid creation’s grandeur, say?
E’en as an insect on the breeze,
E’en as a dew-drop, lost in seas!
Yet fear thou not! The sovereign hand
Which spread the ocean and the land,
And hung the rolling spheres in air,
Hath, e’en for thee, a Father’s care!
Be thou at peace! The all-seeing Eye,
Pervading earth, and air, and sky--
The searching glance which none may flee,
Is still in mercy turn’d on thee.
THE OCEAN.
“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the
deep.”--Psalm cvii. 23, 24.
He that in venturous barks hath been
A wanderer on the deep,
Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.
For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.
Go! ask him of the whirlpool’s roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rush’d along the shore
An army’s chariot-wheels;
Of icebergs, floating o’er the main,
Or fix’d upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,
Mid the bright realms of frost;
Of coral rocks from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,
And, fraught with peril, daily grow,
Form’d by an insect’s power;
Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o’er the tides afar,
And make the expanse of ocean bright,
As heaven with many a star.
O God! thy name _they_ well may praise
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways
Where rocks and billows frown!
If glorious be that awful deep
No human power can bind,
What then art _Thou_, who bid’st it keep
Within its bounds confined!
Let heaven and earth in praise unite!
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can rouse the tempest’s might,
Or still the raging sea!
THE THUNDER-STORM.
Deep, fiery clouds o’ercast the sky,
Dead stillness reigns in air;
There is not e’en a breeze, on high
The gossamer to bear.
The woods are hush’d, the waves at rest,
The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting on its shadowy breast
Each form of rock and hill.
The lime-leaf waves not in the grove,
The rose-tree in the bower;
The birds have ceased their songs of love,
Awed by the threatening hour.
’Tis noon;--yet nature’s calm profound
Seems as at midnight deep:
But hark! what peal of awful sound
Breaks on creation’s sleep?
The thunder-burst!--its rolling might
Seems the firm hills to shake;
And in terrific splendour bright
The gather’d lightnings break.
Yet fear not, shrink not thou, my child!
Though by the bolt’s descent
Were the tall cliffs in ruins piled,
And the wide forests rent.
Doth not thy God behold thee still,
With all-surveying eye?
Doth not his power all nature fill,
Around, beneath, on high?
Know, hadst thou eagle-pinions free,
To track the realms of air,
Thou couldst not reach a spot, where He
Would not be with thee there!
In the wide city’s peopled towers,
On the vast ocean’s plains,
Midst the deep woodland’s loneliest bowers,
Alike the Almighty reigns!
Then fear not, though the angry sky
A thousand darts should cast;
Why should we tremble, e’en to die,
And be with _Him_ at last?
THE BIRDS.
“Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings; and not one of them is
forgotten before God?”--St Luke, xii. 6.
Tribes of the air! whose favour’d race
May wander through the realms of space,
Free guests of earth and sky;
In form, in plumage, and in song,
What gifts of nature mark your throng
With bright variety!
Nor differ less your forms, your flight,
Your dwellings hid from hostile sight,
And the wild haunts ye love;
Birds of the gentle beak![407] how dear
Your wood-note to the wanderer’s ear,
In shadowy vale or grove!
Far other scenes, remote, sublime,
Where swain or hunter may not climb
The mountain-eagle seeks;
Alone he reigns a monarch there,
Scarce will the chamois’ footstep dare
Ascend his Alpine peaks.
Others there are that make their home
Where the white billows roar and foam
Around the o’erhanging rock;
Fearless they skim the angry wave,
Or, shelter’d in their sea-beat cave,
The tempest’s fury mock.
Where Afric’s burning realm expands,
The ostrich haunts the desert-sands,
Parch’d by the blaze of day;
The swan, where northern rivers glide,
Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide
Floats graceful on her way.
The condor, where the Andes tower,
Spreads his broad wing of pride and power,
And many a storm defies;
Bright in the Orient realms of morn,
All beauty’s richest hues adorn
The bird of paradise.
Some, amidst India’s groves of palm,
And spicy forests breathing balm,
Weave soft their pendant nest;
Some, deep in Western wilds, display
Their fairy form and plumage gay,
In rainbow colours drest.
Others no varied song may pour,
May boast no eagle-plume to soar,
No tints of light may wear;
Yet know, our Heavenly Father guides
The least of these, and well provides
For each, with tenderest care.
Shall He not then _thy_ guardian be?
Will not His aid extend to _thee_?
Oh, safely may’st thou rest!--
Trust in His love; and e’en should pain,
Should sorrow, tempt thee to complain,
Know what He wills is best!
[407] The Italians call all singing-birds, _birds of the gentle beak_.
THE SKYLARK.
CHILD’S MORNING HYMN.
The skylark, when the dews of morn
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,
And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars and sings.
He rests not on the leafy spray
To warble his exulting lay;
But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstasy.
Thus, my Creator! thus the more
My spirit’s wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!
THE NIGHTINGALE.
CHILD’S EVENING HYMN.
When twilight’s gray and pensive hour
Brings the low breeze, and shuts the flower,
And bids the solitary star
Shine in pale beauty from afar;
When gathering shades the landscape veil,
And peasants seek their village-dale,
And mists from river-wave arise,
And dew in every blossom lies;
When evening’s primrose opes to shed
Soft fragrance round her grassy bed;
When glow-worms in the wood-walk light
Their lamp to cheer the traveller’s sight;--
At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wanderer love
The twilight music of the grove.
Father in heaven! oh, thus when day
With all its cares hath pass’d away,
And silent hours waft peace on earth,
And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit’s offering bear--
Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.
So may Thy mercy and Thy power
Protect me through the midnight hour,
And balmy sleep and visions blest
Smile on Thy servant’s bed of rest.
THE NORTHERN SPRING.
When the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o’er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow!
Then bursts the verdure of the plains,
Then break the streams from icy chains;
And the glad reindeer seeks no more
Amidst deep snows his mossy store.
Then the dark pine-wood’s boughs are seen
Fringed tenderly with living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland’s founts and lakes arise.
Thus, in a moment, from the gloom
And the cold fetters of the tomb,
Thus shall the blest Redeemer’s voice
Call forth his servants to rejoice.
For He, whose word is truth, hath said,
His power to life shall wake the dead,
And summon those he loves on high,
To “put on immortality!”
Then, all its transient sufferings o’er,
On wings of light the soul shall soar,
Exulting, to that blest abode
Where tears of sorrow never flow’d.
Early in the year 1834, the little volume of _Hymns for Childhood_
(which, though written many years before, had never been published
in England) was brought out by Messrs Curry of Dublin, who were
also the publishers of the _National Lyrics_, which appeared in a
collected form about the same time. Of the latter, Mrs Hemans thus
wrote to her friend Mrs Lawrence, in the note which accompanied the
volume:--“I think you will love my little book, though it contains
but the broken music of a troubled heart--for all the hours it will
recall to you beam fresh and bright as ever in my memory, though I
have passed through but too many of sad and deep excitement since that
period.”--_Memoir_, p. 269.]
PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII.
“Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him
in the heights.”
Praise ye the Lord! on every height
Songs to his glory raise!
Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of night,
Join in immortal praise!
O heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling
From all thine orbs be sent!
Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling!
Above the firmament!
For His the word which gave you birth,
And majesty and might:
Praise to the Highest from the earth,
And let the deeps unite!
O fire and vapour, hail and snow!
Ye servants of His will;
O stormy winds! that only blow
His mandates to fulfil;
Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise!
Fair cedars of the wood!
Creatures of life that wing the skies,
Or track the plains for food!
Judges of nations! kings, whose hand
Waves the proud sceptre high!