Classic Poem

There is a Spirit, whose reviving power
Dwells through the changes of each earthly hour:
Where the sere blooms of man's decline are shed,
And sterile snows the brow of age o'erspread;
Or while each impulse of the heart is young,
And the light laugh falls sweet from childhood's tongue:
There lurks that moving spirit, bound to all —
O'er which nor chance nor time can fling a thrall;
Through lengthened years its force unbroken moves,
Guiding the hopes of earth, the cares, the loves;
Where'er the land outspreads, or sunshine lies,
Pour'd on old ocean from the boundless skies;
In calm or storm, in light or shade it springs,
And broods o'er nature with perpetual wings.

Its name is Life — and glorious is its sway,
Which seas, and worlds on worlds, and stars obey;
Born from the exhaustless might of God alone,
The extended universe is but his throne;
In liberal measure, through the waste of years,
Its quenchless power, or principle, appears;
Fadeless and unrepress'd its lustres move,
Won from the fountains of Eternal Love!

Mysterious Life! how wide is thy domain!
In nature's scope how absolute thy reign!
In moving force thy kindling gleams appear,
When dewy blooms bedeck the opening year;
When, robed in laughing guise, the Spring comes on,
And waves her odorous garlands in the sun:
When the soft air comes balmy from the West,
And tenderest verdure cheers the meadow's breast:
How teem the gifts of life at such an hour —
How sighs the zephyr — how expands the flow'r!
High from the forest's nodding tops arise
Rich clouds of hidden fragrance through the skies —
Their viewless wings the abyss of ether fan,
While dreams, exalting, fire the breast of man.
Awakening life in every thought prevails;
He draws rapt inspiration from the gales:
To the charm'd eye above, the golden sun
Doth his perpetual journeys brightly run;
Around his course, in solemn pomp, repose
Gay clouds that drink his glory as he goes;
He bathes the desert waste, the city's fanes;
He pours clear radiance on the hills and plains;
Till restless life, still travelling with his rays,
O'er earth and heaven, in trembling lustre plays.

Who, when the summer laughs in light around,
But feels that spirit's glowing power abound?
Warmed from the south, the gladsome hours are shed,
Lending new verdure to each mountain-head;
Luxuriant blessings crown the pleasant scene,
And the broad landscape glows in sunny green;
While leaves and birds and streams their songs attune,
And, steep'd in music, smiles the rose of June;
Making the freighted bliss it scatters there,
Seem like the breathings of ambrosial air;
While, o'er the tall old hills and vales between,
In peerless glory, swells the blue serene:
Unbounded skies! — where life triumphant dwells,
And light resistless from its fountain wells;
Where beauty unapproach'd — alone — sublime,
Mocks at the restless change of earth and time;
And clothed in radiance from the Eternal's throne,
Bends its unpillared arch from zone to zone!

Who that hath stood, where summer brightly lay
On some broad city, by a spreading bay,
And from a rural height the scene survey'd,
While on the distant strand the billows play'd,
But felt the vital spirit of the scene,
What time the south wind stray'd through foliage green,
And freshened from the dancing waves, went on,
By the gay groves, and fields, and gardens won?
Oh, who that listens to the inspiring sound
Which the wide Ocean wakes against his bound,
While, like some fading hope, the distant sail
Flits o'er the dim blue waters, in the gale;
When the tired sea-bird dips his wings in foam,
And hies him to his beetling eyry home;
When sun-gilt ships are parting from the strand,
And glittering steamers by the breeze are fanned;
When the wide city's domes and piles aspire,
And rivers broad seemed touch'd with golden fire —
Save where some gliding boat their lustre breaks,
And volumed smoke its murky tower forsakes,
And surging in dark masses, soars to lie,
And stain the glory of the uplifted sky;
Oh, who at such a scene unmoved hath stood,
And gazed on town, and plain, and field, and flood,
Nor felt that life's keen spirit lingered there,
Through earth, and ocean, and the genial air?

" Change is the life of Nature;" and the hour
When storm and blight reveal lone autumn's pow'r;
When damask leaves to swollen streams are cast,
Borne on the funeral anthems of the blast;
When smit with pestilence the woodlands seem,
Yet gorgeous as a Persian poet's dream;
That hour the seeds of life within, it bears,
Though fraught with perished blooms and sobbing airs;
Though solemn companies of clouds may rest
Along the uncheer'd and melancholy west;
Though there no more the enthusiast may behold
Effulgent troops, arrayed in purple and gold;
Or mark the quivering lines of light aspire,
Where crimson shapes are bathed in living fire —
Though Nature's withered breast no more be fair,
Nor happy voices fluctuate in the air;
Yet is there life in Autumn's sad domains —
Life, strong and quenchless, through his kingdom reigns.
To kindred dust the leaves and flowers return,
Yet briefly sleep in winter's icy urn;
Though o'er their graves, in blended wreaths, repose
Dim wastes of dreary and untrodden snows,
Though the aspiring hills, rise cold and pale
To breast the murmurs of the northern gale,
Yet, when the jocund spring again comes on,
Their trance is broken, and their slumber done;
Awakening Nature re-asserts her reign,
And her kind bosom throbs with life again!

" 'Tis thus with man. He cometh, like the flow'r,
To feel the changes of each earthly hour;
To enjoy the sunshine, or endure the shade,
By hopes deluded, or by reason sway'd;
Yet haply, if to Virtue's path he turn,
And feel her hallowed fires within him burn,
He passeth calmly from that sunny morn,
Where all the buds of youth are " newly born,"
Through varying intervals of onward years,
Until the eve of his decline appears:
And while the shadows round his path descend,
As down the vale of age his footsteps tend,
Peace o'er his bosom sheds her soft control,
And throngs of gentlest memories charm the soul;
Then, weaned from earth, he turns his steadfast eye
Beyond the grave, whose verge he falters nigh,
Surveys the brightening regions of the blest,
And, like a wearied pilgrim, sinks to rest.

The just man dies not, though within the tomb
His wasting form be laid, mid tears and gloom:
Though many a heart beats sadly when repose
His silvery locks in earth, like buried snows;
Yet love, and hope, and faith, with heavenward trust,
Tell that his spirit sinks not in the dust:
Above, entranced and glorious, it hath soared,
Where all its primal freshness is restored;
And from all sin released, and doubt, and pain,
Renews the morning of its youth again.

Yes! while the mourner stands beside the bier,
O'er a lost friend to shed the frequent tear
To pour the tender and regretful sigh,
And feel the heart-pulse fill the languid eye —
Even at that hour the thoughtful wo is vain,
Since change, not death, invokes affection's pain.
Naught but a tranquil slumberer resteth there,
Whose spirit's plumes have swept the upper air,
And caught the radiance borne from heaven along,
Fraught with rich incense and immortal song;
And passed the glittering gates which angels keep:
Oh, wherefore for the just should mourners weep?

And why should grief be moved for those who die,
When life is opening to the youthful eye;
When freshening love springs buoyant in the breast,
And hope's gay wings are fluttering undepress'd:
While like the morning dews that gem the rose,
In the pure soul, the dreams of joy repose;
When on the land and wave a light is thrown,
Which to the morn of life alone is known;
When every scene brings gladness to the view,
And every rapture of the heart is new;
Oh, who shall mourn that then the silver cord
Is loosed, and to its home the soul restored?
Oh who should weep that thus, at such an hour,
Celestial light should burst upon the flower —
The human flower, that but began to glow
And brighten in this changeful world below;
Then, still unstained, was borne, to bloom on high,
And drink the lustre of a fadeless sky?

No! let the mother, when her infant's breath
Faints on her bosom, in the trance of death;
Then let her yearning heart obey the call
Of that high God who loves and cares for all;
Resign the untainted blossom to that shore
Where sicknesses and blight have power no more;
Where poisonous mildew comes not from the air,
To cheek the undying blooms and verdure there;
But where the gifts of life profuse are shed,
And funeral wailings rise not o'er the dead:
Where cherub-throngs in joy triumphant move,
And Faith lies slumbering on the breast of Love.

Change wears the name of death, the heart to bow,
And bid its rising shadows cloud the brow;
To teach the wandering soul, with truth severe,
That man hath no continual city here;
That all his hopes, unfixed on God and heaven,
Like pure aroma to the whirlwinds given,
Are raptures, wasted from a precious store,
They leave the bosom to return no more.

Could man's impressive reason bear the sway,
And guide his footsteps through life's little day;
Could every pulse that riots but to stain
His soul, move calmly in reflection's reign;
Could gentle Conscience whisper peace within,
And from his spirit sweep the darling sin;
Between his birth-hour and his final rest,
What high philosophy would fire his breast?
Time's glittering charms would then no more delude,
Its phantom train would all be unpursued;
No scars of sorrow's war the cheek would wear,
Ploughed by corroding thoughts too deeply there;
No gusts of passion would the brow deform,
Or lash the kindling bosom into storm;
But each pure wish, inspired, to heaven would soar,
And earth's dull fevers burn the heart no more.

And since the changes which in time are rife,
No real death contain, but teem with life;
Since blooming nature from decay can spring
With buds, and happy birds upon the wing;
Since year to year succeeds, and all renew
The scenes that glow'd to childhood's wondering view,
Since lavish beauty riseth from the dust,
Shall man's cold heart withdraw from heaven its trust?
No! while the unblemished sun careers on high,
And gilds, with glorious smile, the earth and sky;
While tides, mysteriously-obedient, roll
From orient Indus to the frozen pole;
While chaste and free above, serenely bright,
The moon sails onward through a sea of light;
While verdant leaves in summer's air can play,
Or torrents thunder midst their rainbow spray:
Long as the unnumbered stars can flash and burn,
Or journeying winds upon their circuits turn;
There shall the exhaustless life of God be found,
And His kind love diffuse its gifts around.

Man to his rest may fall — but who should mourn,
Or plant the cypress by the marble urn?
In dust his wan, cold ashes may remain,
But no dark shade of death the soul can stain;
Beyond destruction's power 'tis formed to rise,
And bide the judgment-audit in the skies.
Then who the dirge would breathe, or pour the tear,
Since life is strong, and death is feeble here?
Gorged by the past, in dreamless slumber laid,
Rest the fond lover and the rosy maid;
Friends, parents, brothers, sisters, linger there,
Shut from the sunshine and the blessed air;
But change alone hath touched each earthly form,
Each faded banquet of the noisome worm:
Death o'er the ransomed spirit hath no pow'r —
It waits the final and triumphant hour,
When sundering cerements shall their prey release,
Renewed and radiant, to the Realms of Peace.

All-quenchless Life! bright effluence from God !
Whose impulse fills the universe abroad!
From thee the restless heart its movement draws —
In thee, revolving seasons find their laws;
Thine is the pulse that heaves the ocean wave,
Or bids the evening sunlight gild the grave;
That paints the gorgeous skies at night or morn,
When dawn is blushing, or when stars are born;
Which drives the unquiet storm along its way,
When broken ships are whelm'd in surge and spray;
While inland hills are echoing wildly-loud,
As the mad thunders roll from cloud to cloud;
When giant trees, with arms uplifted high,
Creak, as the sheeted lightnings hurtle by;
While lengthened swells chastise the groaning strand,
And bid their deep-toned murmurs thrill the land!

Life, unsubdued, through all the world prevails;
Howls on the midnight waters, or in vales
Where gentlest Summer spreads her waving grain,
Smiles o'er the golden harvest, on the plain;
Bathes, through the tranquil eve, the lake and stream,
In silvery lustre, an unbroken gleam;
Bids the rich sunset all its splendors form,
And braids the rainbow on the passing storm:
These are the gifts of Life — sublime and high —
They teach the soul its immortality!

Then let obedient man the lesson heed —
Let his observant eye its precepts read;
On earth, and ocean, and in heaven above,
Writ with the principle of life and love;
So, when the mockeries of this world shall cease,
His spotless soul may don the robes of peace:
Its tireless pinions shall in rapture wave,
Far through the bended skies, above the grave;
Where no sad care the soaring thought can bind,
Or vex the holy and eternal mind.

There, through unclouded leagues of fragrant air,
The walls of Heaven dispense their glories rare;
Prismatic shafts of sparkling light arise,
Pure as the thoughts that beam from angels' eyes;
There, glittering gates of massy pearl unfold,
And restless lustre streams from streets of gold;
There Life's immortal river flows abroad,
To cheer the city of the living God ;
And where its liquid lapse extends serene,
By dewy pastures of undying green;
There, rich with healing leaves and fruits that glow,
The trees of life their generous wealth bestow;
There, gentle harpers cheer the shadeless day,
And balm and song are pour'd from every spray.

There, too, when nature's requiem-trump shall sound,
Will all the pure of earth again be found;
Long-sundered friends, on that unblighted shore,
Will meet, to sorrow and to part no more;
But, calm'd and blessed, in reverential love,
Through joyous bowers, and fields undimmed, will move,
A deathless King to praise — divine and just,
Beneath whose feet the burning stars are dust.