15Written in childhood, in a maple grove
Quickly earth's jewels disappear; The turf, whereon I tread,
18Ere autumn blanch another year, May rest above my head.
Touched by the finger of decay
21Is every earthly love; For joy, to shun my weary way, Is registered above.
24The languid brooklets yield their sighs, A requiem o'er the tomb Of sunny days and cloudless skies,
27Enhancing autumn's gloom.
1The wild winds mutter, howl, and moan, To scare my woodland walk,
3And frightened fancy flees, to roam Where ghosts and goblins stalk.
The cricket's sharp, discordant scream
6Fills mortal sense with dread; More sorrowful it scarce could seem; It voices beauty fled.
9Yet here, upon this faded sod, — O happy hours and fleet, — When songsters' matin hymns to God
12Are poured in strains so sweet,
My heart unbidden joins rehearse; I hope it's better made,
15When mingling with the universe, Beneath the maple's shade.
CHRIST MY REFUGE
18O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind There sweeps a strain, Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind
21The power of pain,
And wake a white-winged angel throng Of thoughts, illumed
24By faith, and breathed in raptured song, With love perfumed.