152 WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. [1830-40.
Despair may truer be than Hope;
But Hope is mightier far than he!
As rounding up yon starless cope,
Even now to-morrow's sun I see,
So Hope brings day before 'tis day,
And antedates a word, or deed,
Or thought, that shall be felt for aye,
And help us in our sorest need.
Ah, Hope is truer than Despair!—
What says the iron tongue of time.
From yon old turret high in air.
Pealing the centuries' march sublime?
"God gives to man another year.
With Hope his friend!" Bereaved one,
Uncloud the brow, dry up the tear—
Joy Cometh with the morrow's sun!
HARVEST HYMN.
Great God!—our heart-felt thanks to Thee!
We feel thy presence every where;
And pray that we may ever be
Thus objects of thy guardian care.
We sowed!—by Thee our work was seen,
And blessed; and instantly went forth
Thy mandate; and in living green
Soon smiled the fair and fruitful earth.
We toiled!—and Thou didst note our toil;
And gav'st the sunshine and the rain,
Till ripened on the teeming soil
The fragrant grass and golden grain.
And now, we reap!—and oh, our God!
From this, the earth's unbounded floor.
We send our Song of Thanks abroad.
And pray Thee, bless our hoarded store!
"WHEN LAST THE MAPLE BUD WAS SWELLING."
When last the maple bud was swelling.
When last the crocus bloomed below.
Thy heart to mine its love was telling,
Thy soul with mine kept ebb and flow;
Again the maple bud is swelling—
Again the crocus blooms below—
In heaven thy heart its love is telling.
But still our souls keep ebb and flow.
When last the April bloom was flinging
Sweet odors on the air of Spring,
In forest-aisles thy voice was ringing,
Where thou didst with the red-bird sing;
Again the April bloom is flinging
Sweet odors on the air of Spring,
But now in heaven thy voice is ringing,
Where thou dost with the angels sing.
THE WEST.[1]
<poem>
Broad plains—blue waters—hills and valleys.
That ring with anthems of the free!
Brown-pillared groves, with green-arched alleys.
That Freedom's holiest temples be!
These forest-aisles are full of story:—
Here many a one of old renown
First sought the meteor-light of glory,
And mid its transient flash went down.
Historic names forever greet us.
Where'er our wandering way we thread;
Familiar forms and faces meet us—
As living walk with us the dead.
Man's fame, so often evanescent,
Links here with thoughts and things that last;
And all the bright and teeming Present
Thrills with the great and glorious Past.
- ↑ Written for this volume.
