66 DARK THE FAITH OF DAYS OF YORE. 151 Thou, Lord, alone, art all thy children need, From thee the streams of blessedness proceed; Fountain of life, and all-abounding grace, "DARK THE FAITH OF DAYS OF YORE." ALTERED FROM COLERIDGE. FOX'S COLLECTION. DARK the faith of days of "And at evening evermore yore, Did the chanters, sad and saintly, Doleful masses chant to thee, Bright the faith of coming days; Te laudamus, Domine! Night's sad "cadence dies away The boatmen rest their oars, and say, Morn's glad chorus swells alway The boatmen ply their oars, and say, HYMN OF THE CITY. W. C. BRYANT. NOT in the solitude Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood, Or sunny vale, the present Deity; Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!- here, amidst the crowd Through the great city rolled, With everlasting murmur, deep and loud, Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. HYMN OF THE CITY. 153 Thy golden sunshine comes. From the round heaven, and on their dwelling lies, And lights their inner homes; For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound, Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng, Like the resounding sea, Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, The quiet of that moment, too, is thine; The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. PART V. ACTIVE DUTY. ON FOR EVER. MRS. L. J. HALL. WINDS of the sky! ye hurry by On your strong and busy wings, And your might is great, and your song is high, And true is the tale it sings. “On, on, for ever and aye! Round the whole earth lieth our way: On, on, for we may not stay!" Murmuring stream! like a soft dream ON FOR EVER. Queen of yon high and dim blue vault, 'Mid their bright orbs thou dost not halt, Round the whole earth lieth my way: Thoughts of my mind, ye hurry on; Whence ye come I may not know, وو Man may not stay! there is no rest On earth for the good man's foot; Sit ye not down in sloth's dark bower, Pause not to wreathe the sunny flower 155 |