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Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate! That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O, why should this thy soul elate? Sweet Music's loudest note, the poet's story, Didst thou ne'er love to hear of Fame and Glory? And is not War a youthful king,
A stately hero clad in mail ? Beneath his footsteps laurels spring ;
Him earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold brighteye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. « Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
And therefore is my soul elate.
He kills the sire, and starves the son;
Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. " Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease ; I'm poor and of a low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: Peace, peace on earth, the Prince of Peace is born.'
HYMN BEFORE SUN RISE,
IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNY.
Besides the rivers Arvé and Arveiron, which have
their sources in the foot of Mount Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down its sides ; and within a few paces of the glaciers, the gentiana major grows in immense numbers, with its flowers of loveliest
blue.' Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? so long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity! o dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer I worship'd the Invisible alone,
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
As in her natural form, swell’d vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's Rosy Star, and of the dawn Coherald! wake, O wake, and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who call’d you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks For ever shattered, and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), “ Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?”
Ye ice-falls! Ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amainTorrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-
Ye lively flowers that skirt the' eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky point
ing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure se
rene, Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast Thou too again, stupendous mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise, Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
CHORUS OF HEBREW FEMALES, IMPLORING JEHOVAH TO AVERT THE FALL OF
Thus we move, our sad steps timing
To our cymbals' feeblest chiming,
The branches of thy fruitful vine,
O'er all the hills of Palestine.