Even of that simple rudiment, which dwells
With babes in Christ. I would be taught of thee,
Severe Instructor, who dost make thy page
Of pulseless breasts and unimpassion'd brows,
And lips that yield no sound. Thou who dost wake
Man for that lesson, which he reads but once,
And mak'st thy record of the sullen mounds
That mar the church-yard's smoothness, let me glean
Wisdom among the tombs, for I would learn
Thy deep, unflattering lore. What have I said?
No! not of thee, but of the hand that pluck'd
The sceptre from thee.
Thou, who once didst taste
Of all man's sorrows, save the guilt of sin,—
Divine Redeemer! teach us so to walk
In these our earthly gardens, as to gain
Footing at last, amid the trees of God,
Which by the Eternal River from His Throne
Nourish'd, shall never fade.
DREAMS.
"Knowest thou what thou art, in the hour of sleep? Who is the illuminator of the soul? Who hath seen, who knoweth him?
Taliessin.
Revere thyself! for thou art wonderful
Even in thy passiveness. Hail, heir of Heaven!
Immortal mind! that when the body sleeps
Doth roam with unseal'd eye, on tireless wing,
Where Memory hath no chart, and Reason finds
