the elm and blasted tree.
101
Enabling me erect to stand,
Beneath his kind, though chastening hand.
And many pious hearts there be,
Whose truth-illumined eye can see
E'en beauty in a blasted tree;
And to the homesick, longing mind,
The mournful accents of the wind,
That whisper through my branches bare,
Seem like a parting spirit's prayer—
So sad, so pure, but half expressed,
A sighing for a heavenly rest.
Sacred the sorrow-blighted form
That stands erect amid the storm:
The stroke that blights our earthly joys,
Each earthly sorrow, too, destroys.
But let this fond, confiding vine
Still round my shivering trunk entwine;
In countless folds so closely wound,
With ties that cannot be unbound—
Those clinging fibres, strong though fine,
Which tender hearts together join."
More sad and low the accents grew;
The sun had smiled his last adieu,
And in the rushing blast of even,
Away each lingering tone was driven.
Darkness commenced her solemn sway;
I slowly homeward bent my way,
Beneath his kind, though chastening hand.
And many pious hearts there be,
Whose truth-illumined eye can see
E'en beauty in a blasted tree;
And to the homesick, longing mind,
The mournful accents of the wind,
That whisper through my branches bare,
Seem like a parting spirit's prayer—
So sad, so pure, but half expressed,
A sighing for a heavenly rest.
Sacred the sorrow-blighted form
That stands erect amid the storm:
The stroke that blights our earthly joys,
Each earthly sorrow, too, destroys.
But let this fond, confiding vine
Still round my shivering trunk entwine;
In countless folds so closely wound,
With ties that cannot be unbound—
Those clinging fibres, strong though fine,
Which tender hearts together join."
More sad and low the accents grew;
The sun had smiled his last adieu,
And in the rushing blast of even,
Away each lingering tone was driven.
Darkness commenced her solemn sway;
I slowly homeward bent my way,
