THOUGHTS AMONG THE TREES.
"The retiring of the mind into itself is the state most susceptible of divine impressions."—Lord Bacon.
How beautiful you are, green trees! green trees!
How nobly beautiful! Fain would I rest
'Neath the broad shadow of your mantling arms,
And lose the world's unquiet imagery
In the soft mist of dreams. Your curtaining veil
Shuts out the revelry and toil, that chafe
The city's denizens. Man wars with man,
And brethren forage on each other's hearts,
Throwing their life-blood in that crucible
Which brings forth gold.
Unceasingly we strive,
And gaze at gauds, and cling to wind-swept reeds,
Then darkly sink, and die.
But here ye stand,
Your moss-grown roots by hidden moisture fed,
And on your towering heads the dews that fall
From God's right hand. I love your sacred lore,
And to the silence you have learn'd of Him
Bow down my spirit. Not a whispering leaf
Uplifts itself, to mar the holy pause
Of meditation.
Doth not wisdom dwell
With silence and with nature? From the throng
