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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 sovereign 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
Co-herald, wake! O wake! and utter praise !
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light!
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
Forever shattered and the same forever?
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 amain-
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped 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? "God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, "God!" "God!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, "God!"
Ye living 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 elements!
Utter forth" God," and fill the hills with praise!
Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain! thou,
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud,
rise, O ever rise,
To rise before me,
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.
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
Handle, handl'd, handl'dst, handles, handl'st, gladďn, gladd'ns, gladd'n'd, dream, drive, didst, breadth, breadths, deeds, edge, hedg'd.
Hymn of Nature. W. B. O. PEABODY.
GOD of the earth's extended plains!
The dark, green fields, contented lie;
The mountains rise like holy towers,
Where man might commune with the sky;
The tall cliff challenges the storm
That lowers upon the vale below,
Where shaded fountains send their streams,
With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heavy deep!
The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Till the fierce trumpet of the storm
Hath summoned up their thundering bands;
Then the white sails are dashed like foam,
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas;
Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale
Serenely breathes, "Depart in peace!"
God of the forest's solemn shade!
The grandeur of the lonely tree,
That wrestles singly with the gale,
Lifts up admiring eyes to thee;
But more majestic far they stand,
When side by side their ranks they form,
To wave on high their plumes of green,
And fight their battles with the storm.
God of the light and viewless air!
Where summer breezes sweetly flow,
Or, gathering in their angry might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow,
All-from the evening's plaintive sigh,
That hardly lifts the drooping flower,
To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry
Breathe forth the language of thy power.
God of the fair and open sky!
How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue,
Suspended on the rainbow's rings! Each brilliant star, that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud, that wanders free In evening's purple' radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to thee.
God of the rolling orbs above!
Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven,
Were kindled at thy burning throne.
God of the world! the hour must come,
And nature's self to dust return;
Her crumbling altars must decay;
Her incense-firès shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below.
EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION.
Flame, flew, flown, fly, trifl'd, trifl'dst, trifles, trifl'st, sof'n, sof'n'd, sof'ns; frame, freeze, frown, laughs, laugh'st, waft, wafts, waft'st, fifth.
Passage down the Ohio. JAMES K. Paulding.
As, down Ohio's ever-ebbing tide,
Oarless and sail-less silently they glide,
How still the scene! how lifeless, yet how fair,
Was the lone land that met the stranger there!
No smiling villages, or curling smoke,
The busy haunts of busy men bespoke;
No solitary hut, the banks along,
Sent forth blithe labor's homely rustic song;
No urchin gambolled on the smooth, white sand,
Or hurled the skipping stone with playful hand,
While playmate dog plunged in the clear blue wave,
And swam, in vain, the sinking prize to save.
Where now are seen, along the river side,
Young, busy towns, in buxom painted pride,
And fleets of gliding boats, with riches crowned,
To distant Orleans, or St. Louis bound,
Nothing appeared but nature unsubdued;
One endless, noiseless, woodland solitude,
Or boundless prairie, that aye seemed to be
As level and as lifeless as the sea;
They seemed to breathe in this wide world alone,
Heirs of the earth- the land was all their own!
'Twas evening now; the hour of toil was o'er; Yet still they durst not seek the fearful shore, Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep, And spring upon, and murder them in sleep;