All there was calm, for the thick branches made
A screen above, and round him closely stood
The trunks of cedars and of pines arrayed,—
To the rude tempest a firm barricade.
XLVI.
And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke,
Hewed down the boscage that around him rose,
And of dry pine the brittle branches broke,
To yield him fuel for the night's repose:
The gathered heap an ample store bespoke;
He smites the steel—the tinder brightly glows;
Fired by the match forth burst the kindling flame,
And light upon night's seated darkness came.
XLVII.
High branched the pines, and far the colonnade
Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the glen;
And then rejoiced he in that lonely glade
So far away from persecuting men,
That he might break of honesty the bread,
And blessing crave in his own way again;—
Of up-piled brush a seat and board he made,
Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed.
XLVIII.
"Father of mercies! thou the wanderer's guide
In this dire storm along the howling waste,
Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide,
Thanks for the mercies of the day that's past;
Thanks for the frugal fare thou hast supplied;
And O! may still thy tender mercies last;
And may thy light on every falsehood shine,
Till man's freed spirit owns no law but thine!"
