The blooming earth so glad below—­
The fragrant flowers—­the streams that flow—­
The tuneful birds—­would bid us know,
                “There is a God.”

Yon soaring sun on wings of fire,
Proclaims his great, celestial Sire—­
’Tis chanted by the starry choir,
                “There is a God.”

We know it, too, at nights’ fair noon,
When lo! the pale and placid Moon,
Illumes the balmy night of June,
                “There is a God.”

The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown,
Hoarse-raging Winter’s angry frown,
And Summer fair, unceasing own,
                “There is a God.”

The mountains high, and dark, and vast—­
The thunder’s roar—­the howling blast—­
The lightnings springing thick and fast,
                Amid the gloom,

That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky—­
The Storm-fiend’s wild, terrific cry—­
The Earth-quake’s shock—­proclaim on high,
                “An awful God!”

But oh! that awful God above,
Is yet a gracious God of love—­
A bleeding Lamb—­a wounded Dove—­
                The sinner’s God.

Poor sinner! love His holy name,
And when this world shall pass in flame
A heavenly mansion thou mayst claim,
                To dwell with God.

TO THE BELOVED.

I dream of thee, beloved one,
  When the moon comes o’er the sea,
And hangs her horns of silver,
  In yonder forest tree! 
I wake from out my slumber,
  I think I hear thy voice,
It thrills my list’ning spirit,
  It makes my soul rejoice.

Oh love! thy fair, bright image,
  Is hov’ring near to mine,
Oh love!  I see thy passion,
  In those deep eyes of thine: 
Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming,
  Have bound my senses quite,
Those eyes are o’er me beaming,
  The only stars of night.

TO LORA GORDON BOON.

Sweet maiden of the feeling soul,
  I saw thy little form,
Arrayed in gay and glittering garb,
  And felt thy beauty’s charm.

And, Lora! when I saw thee show
  The mighty poet’s thought,
The poet’s truth, with vivid force,
  Before my mind was brought.

And when I heard thee sweetly sing,
  The bold gay “Cavalier,”
I thought that was the sweetest tone
  E’er fell on mortal ear.

“Sweet Maid!” ’twas love’s most plaintive voice,
  That echoes from the soul,
And makes the listening spirit pause
  In that divine control.

And when thou sang’st the “Soldier Boy,”
  I heard the drum and fife,
The bugle’s blast, the cannon’s boom,
  The keen, sharp shriek for life!

And when thou sang’st with gentle voice,
  The “Bonnie Breast Knots” too;
’Twas like the words of peace and love,
  That follow war’s wild crew.