Page:Poems Welby.djvu/66

Or deem the radiance of yon blue expanse,
With all its starry hosts, the careless work of Chance?

O blessed stars! whene'er ye softly fling
 A silvery trembling down by lake and hill,
'T is then that sweet Religion's holy wing
 Broods o'er the spirit, and doth softly fill
Its silent depths with that pure heavenly bliss,
That we so seldom feel, save at an hour like this.

For ne'er since love's sweet raptures o'er me stole.
 As first its young existence dawned in sighs,
Have I e'er felt such fullness in my soul,
 Such depth of softness at my heart and eyes,
As I now feel upon this dewy sod.
Pondering with holy awe the wondrous works of God.

Ye bring the time when happy lovers meet
 In some lone spot, when not a sound is heard
Save their own sighs, or the unequal beat
 Of their young hearts to tender wishes stirred,
As hand seeks hand, and meeting glances tell
The unuttered tale of love, too sweetly, and too well.

But all in vain to thought's tumultuous flow
 I strive to give the strength of glowing words;
The waves of feeling, tossing to and fro
 In broken music o'er my harp's loose chords,
Give but their fainting echoes from my soul,
As through its silent depths, their wild swift currents roll.