Poems (Hinxman)/The Breeze in the Church

by Emmeline Hinxman

THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH.

'T was a sunny day, and the morning psalm
 We sang in the church together;
We felt in our hearts the joy and calm
 Of the calm and joyous weather.

The slow, and sweet, and sacred strain,
 Through every bosom stealing,
Checked every thought that was light and vain,
 And waked each holy feeling.

We knew by its sunny gleam, how clear
 Was the blue sky smiling o'er us;
And in every pause of the hymn could hear
 The wild birds' happy chorus.

And lo! from its haunt by cave or rill,
 With a sudden start awaking,
A breeze came fluttering down the hill,
 Its fragrant pinions shaking.

Through the open windows it bent its way,
 And down the chancel's centre,
Like a privileged thing that at will might stray,
 And in holy places enter.

From niche to niche, from nook to nook,
 With a lightsome rustle flying,
It lifted the leaves of the Holy Book
 On the altar-cushion lying.

It fanned the old clerk's hoary hair
 And the children's bright young faces;
Then vanished, none knew how or where,
 Leaving its pleasant traces.

It left sweet thoughts of summer hours
 Spent on the quiet mountains;
And the church seemed full of the scent of flowers,
 And the trickling fall of fountains.

The image of scenes so still and fair
 With our music sweetly blended,
While it seemed their whispered hymn took share,
 In the praise that to heaven ascended.

We thought of Him who had poured the rills,
 And through the green mountains led them,
Whose hand, when He piled the enduring hills,
 With a mantle of beauty spread them.

And a purer passion was borne above,
 In a louder anthem swelling,
As we bowed to the visible Spirit of Love
 On those calm summits dwelling.

  August, 1841.