SILENCE.
When happy confidence and long-tried truth
Set the soul prating of its full delight
With easy freedom; but the hallow'd tone
Of pure Affection's richest, sweetest string,
Affords no echo of its thrilling note
In measured syllables. When sever'd long
From the dear chosen one whose presence flings
A summer sunshine on our wintry way,
That ever comes as welcome to our sight
As the cool stream amid the desert sand;—
Oh! words can never tell our ecstasy
When once again we hold the idol form
Close to our heart, and look into the eyes.
Where fond devotion finds a faithful mirror,
And doting glances are reflected back
In silent bliss.
Set the soul prating of its full delight
With easy freedom; but the hallow'd tone
Of pure Affection's richest, sweetest string,
Affords no echo of its thrilling note
In measured syllables. When sever'd long
From the dear chosen one whose presence flings
A summer sunshine on our wintry way,
That ever comes as welcome to our sight
As the cool stream amid the desert sand;—
Oh! words can never tell our ecstasy
When once again we hold the idol form
Close to our heart, and look into the eyes.
Where fond devotion finds a faithful mirror,
And doting glances are reflected back
In silent bliss.
The debt of Gratitude
Is not the best remember'd where the lips
Pour forth their voluble and fluent tide
Of warm acknowledgment. Fair-spoken phrases,
Graced with a courtier's bow, are pleasant things,
But rarely hold much more of grateful truth
Than the bright slime that cunning reptiles spread
To catch their prey,—and they who oftenest turn
In fierce recoil upon the helping hand,
Are oftenest those whose hollow hearts have sworn
A changeless sense of benefits received.
The breast where Gratitude is firm and deep
Gives least expression to the one it serves;
As trees that bear the heaviest of fruit
Yield the least rustling to the cherishing breeze.
Is not the best remember'd where the lips
Pour forth their voluble and fluent tide
Of warm acknowledgment. Fair-spoken phrases,
Graced with a courtier's bow, are pleasant things,
But rarely hold much more of grateful truth
Than the bright slime that cunning reptiles spread
To catch their prey,—and they who oftenest turn
In fierce recoil upon the helping hand,
Are oftenest those whose hollow hearts have sworn
A changeless sense of benefits received.
The breast where Gratitude is firm and deep
Gives least expression to the one it serves;
As trees that bear the heaviest of fruit
Yield the least rustling to the cherishing breeze.
Prayer has its decalogue and well-set chant
To say or sing; but prayer can offer up
A purer tribute to the mighty One
Who rules the thunder and restrains the wave,
To say or sing; but prayer can offer up
A purer tribute to the mighty One
Who rules the thunder and restrains the wave,
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