Nature hath voices for the listening ear,
Voices of strange, wild harmony the roar
Of ocean, angry floods, tornadoes wild,
Fierce howling storms, dark hurricanes which tell
The fearful struggle of the tempest wild;
And elemental war; these are voices
Speaking of power which fills the mind with awe,
With terror, and alarm, to hear them rage
Chainless and free, conscious that none on earth
Can stop the flood, stay the wild storm, or bid
The fierce tornado slack his furious speed,
Calm the rough wave and bid the sea be still.
These are the organ tones of nature's harp
Which rules man's heart with a resistless way--
They rouse his fears and make him stand aghast
At demonstrations of a mighty power
Before whose beck he feels that he must bow
As bows the flexile weed: that he must lean
On other arm than that of earthly mould--
The arm of Him who rules o'er wave and storm; [604]
Who when he wills it bids them both be still.
And there are voices in the dim old woods
When Autumn clothes them in its solemn hues;
The winds sigh sadly through the fading leaves
Waking a sound like some sad funeral wail;
Nature seems dying: and the russet hue
Of fern, of trees and all earth's lovely things
Seems the fit shroud of faded loveliness.
Each fitful gust that shakes the solemn grove,
Scatters dead leaves, which sadly fall to earth
To be the sport of winds, and in their fall
They faintly murmur forth a dirge-like strain.
They had their spring--a glad and joyous time;
They sported in its breath, they drank the dew,
Played in the sun, then calmly sunk to rest
Beneath night's quiet eye, to wake at dawn
Sparkling with dew drops bright, which 'neath the blaze
Of day, rose up like incense, from a thousand
Emerald censers flung.
But this hath past
And each sere leaf speaks of decay and death,
Their hollow rustling tells the tribes of men,
That like the Autumn leaves they too must die.
There is a voice in winter's hollow blast
Telling that desolation has been wrought;
That spring's bright promise, and fair summer bloom,
Have all been shrouded in its mantle white;
Or firmly bound up in its icy bands;
To wake no more, until the balmy breath
Of spring's mild zephyrs bids the streams to flow;
Flowers to come forth; and trees to bud and bloom;
To wake the songs of birds, and hum of bee,
Proclaiming that stern winter's reign is o'er,
These are all voices solemn, wild, and strange,
The harsher tones of nature's well-strung harp;
Which all give place to voices full of harmony.
The ocean's wave will calmly sink to rest,
Its dashing wild change to the ripples play
Where breakers late broke wildly on the strand;
Wavelets shall chase each other to the shore;
Storms will at last be hushed to sweet repose,
Tornadoes fierce soon cease their frantic rage;
While the bland breezes, and the zephyrs mild,
Wave the bright leaves, or fan the fragile flower;
Skim the smooth lake, or waft ambrosial sweets,
To fill with perfume all the balmy air.
The fallen leaves at length will pass away,
Bright ones again will deck the summer boughs,
The rose will bloom anew, and spring's mild power
Burst the ice-fetters of old winter's sway.
The rainbow's hues will deck the storm cloud's brow
And cast upon the world a smile of peace.
All these are voices, whispered tones of love
To cheer man's hours of gloom and loneliness.
They say, though life with cares be clouded o'er
A brighter sun than ours shall pierce the gloom;
Though sorrow's waves swell high, and madly rage,
There is a voice can hush the waves to rest
And bid a bow shine through the clouds of grief
To cheer the heart in its deep wretchedness.
Though like the leaves, and fading flowers, we fall
'Neath the chill hand of death, and seek the tomb,
We too shall have our spring; a glorious
Resurrection, death's winter shall not last;
But yield unto a spring without decay.
These all are voices, voices too of love,
Which fall upon the heart with magic power;
Calling us back from sin, and folly's maze,
From all the transient, and the fading here,
To where eternal bloom, and sunshine reign.
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