THOUGHTS AMONG THE TREES.
91
Of fierce communings or of feverish joys,
So the sweet mother of the Lord of life
Turn'd to the manger and its lowly train,
And, mid their quiet ruminations, found
Refuge and room.
Methinks an angel's wing
Floats o'er your arch of verdure, glorious trees!
Luring the soul above. O, ere we part,
For soon I leave your blessed company,
And seek the dusky paths of life again,
Give me some gift, some token of your love,
One holy thought, in heavenly silence born,
That I may nurse it till we meet again.
