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MESOURANEMA.
Where no hate hath stirred and no anger moved
The heart to err from the lips beloved.
The heart to err from the lips beloved.
And thy thousand suns above me shone,
And thy thousand odors abroad were blown,
As I looked from earth to thy realm above,
I wondered not that all was love,
For beauty was over me and around,
And there was sweetness in every sound;
No clarion-voice was upon the air,
Telling of battle or triumph there;
No tents were spread o'er the peaceful plain,
There was no wailing over the slain;—
Thou never hadst felt the need of war,
Nor wast ever dazzled by glory's star!
And thy thousand odors abroad were blown,
As I looked from earth to thy realm above,
I wondered not that all was love,
For beauty was over me and around,
And there was sweetness in every sound;
No clarion-voice was upon the air,
Telling of battle or triumph there;
No tents were spread o'er the peaceful plain,
There was no wailing over the slain;—
Thou never hadst felt the need of war,
Nor wast ever dazzled by glory's star!
Bend over me then, with thy loving skies,
0, land of the heart's own paradise!
I long for the breath of thy perfumed gales,
For the beauty that lingers within thy vales;
I long for the truth that alone is found,
On every spot of thy hallowed ground;
Tor thy flowers that speak of affection, true
As the heaven above them, as lasting too;
For love's own dwelling, where we may find
Innocence saint-like in every mind,—
Bend over me, bend with your golden hours,
Or my heart will die, amidst dying flowers!
0, land of the heart's own paradise!
I long for the breath of thy perfumed gales,
For the beauty that lingers within thy vales;
I long for the truth that alone is found,
On every spot of thy hallowed ground;
Tor thy flowers that speak of affection, true
As the heaven above them, as lasting too;
For love's own dwelling, where we may find
Innocence saint-like in every mind,—
Bend over me, bend with your golden hours,
Or my heart will die, amidst dying flowers!
