sketched in a few simple lines, written during one of our quiet evenings at home:
Loud roars the hoarse storm from the angry North,
As though the winter-spirit loath to leave
His wonted haunts, came rudely rushing back
Fast by the steps of the defenceless spring,
To hurl his frost-spear at her shrinking flowers.
Yet while the tempest o'er the charms of May
Sweeps dominant, and with discordant tone
Wild uproar rules without—peace reigns within.
Bright glows the hearthstone, while the taper clear
Alternate aids the needle, or illumes
The page sublime, inciting the rapt soul
To rise above all warring elements.
The gentle kitten at my footstool breathes
A song monotonous and full of joy.
Close by my side my tender mother sits,
Industriously bent; her brow still fair
With lingering beams of youth, while he, the sire—
The faithful guide, listens indulgently
To our discourse, or wakes the tuneful hymn
With full, rich voice of manly melody.
Fountain of life and light, to Thee I turn,
Father Supreme! from whom our joys descend
As streams flow from their source; and unto whom
All good on earth shall finally return
As to a natural centre—praise is due
To Thee, from all thy works—nor least from me,
Though in thy scale of being, light and low.
