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THE PRAISE OF NATURE.
41
THE PRAISE OF NATURE.
i.
O MOTHER Nature, look upon thine
own!
From men and cities and the thronging
ways
We come to fall before thy gracious throne,
In this deep solitude, where thou wilt raise
Our burdened hearts, bewildered with the bliss
And changing anguish of tumultuous days,
To thy pure heights of peace. Ah, mother,
kiss
The fever from our lips that lost their song
When they forgot thy touch, as seabirds miss
The passion of their wings when human wrong
Hath borne them inland from their natal spray.
Calm goddess, speak thy word that maketh
strong,
While o'er our wearied brows light shadows
play,
Dropt from the leaves that fleck the azure day.
